Dear
by chicadoodle
Summary: Who knew a letter could destroy so many lives? Who knew a mother's need to protect her only child could lead to so much heartbreak? OOC since book 5. Features Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter. NOT SLASH! Chapter 9 Uploaded.
1. Chapter 1

This is a new story idea that has been bugging me. Let me know what y'all think, and if I should continue it. It's been running amuck in my head for quite some time now, and I have plenty of it already planned out in my head, so if I decide to continue it, updates will come rather fast  Enjoy! – chicadoodle

_Dear,_

_I'm not sure what I should call you, or how much you know. Obviously, your father and I have passed away, and you have been left in the care of your … Guardians. We never wanted to leave you with them, please believe us in that. But you had to be protect, and if there was one thing that Snake cherished, it was his family._

_But listen to me, prattling on when there is so much we have to tell you. _

_Shortly after you were born, there was a prophesy, and we realized that it could only point to two children – you, and a boy named Neville Longbottom, a boy who should be in your class at school. We were so scared, Harry. We didn't know what to do. So we took drastic measures._

_We had to hide you away, but we had to do it so nobody would know. I had been friends with Severus Snape in our school days, and I immediately called him to enlist his aide. I didn't agree with his plan, at first, but it was the only one we could come up._

_We told no one, not even your godfather, Sirius Black. We didn't know who we could trust anymore, not with the rumors that there was a traitor within the Order, itself. So we made the switch. We gave you up, sent you to another family, and took their child in as our own._

_They didn't know. They worried so, when their only child disappeared for a few short hours. As a mother, I could understand how the baby's own mother must have felt, unable to find her son. But it had to be done, Harry. You must believe me. We didn't have any other choice!_

_It only took a couple of hours, and we returned you to these worried parents. I hated to watch, to watch this child I knew was my own, protected by powerful charms that would mimmick the genes of these two people I barely even knew._

_And we took their child, performing the same charms on him, so that he would look just like you once had._

_The charms will begin to wear off, Harry. That's why we had to send you this letter, timed in the unfortunate event of our death. You may hate us, for what we had to do to protect you, but never doubt that we love you._

_With Love,_

_Lily and James Potter._

The letter slid from suddenly nerveless hands, and the lone occupant of the room slid to the ground with a **thump**, breath coming in short, harsh pants, and he clutched the baby blanket to his chest.

He could feel a sob rising to his throat, and he closed his eyes tightly and pressed his lips together, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to overspill.

He sat like for only a few minutes, however, before he rose unsteadily to his feet, hands feeling for the walls and furniture as if he were blind.

He had to find his father. He would now what to do. Father always knew what to do.

Draco Malfoy choked back another sob, stumbling as he ran down the hallway to his father's study.


	2. Chapter 2

_Lily Potter stared down at the still form of her son, sleeping peacefully in her arms. The charms had already been cast, and Severus Snape stood beside her, ready to take the sleeping child back to the store they had found Draco Malfoy in._

"_Lily, we have to go." Severus placed a hand on the small of her back, rubbing in small circles as he stared down at the baby in her arms._

_He was a perfect replication of what Draco Malfoy looked liked – as his godfather, he'd had plenty of time to watch the boy in close proximity, and had made sure of that fact. It was amazing, really, what a combination of charms, transfiguration, and potions could do._

_They never would have succeeded without his potions' ability. He had considered, more than once, backing out and letting them find some other way to protect their child. But one look at Lily's pleading eyes, and he had known that he wasn't capable of it. He couldn't hurt Lily like that._

_Draco would be loved, of that he was sure. Lily would smother that child with love, unable to give it to her own child. He had no worries there. It was his loyalty to Lucius, his first true friend, that held him back._

_Lucius would murder him if he ever found out. Gouge his eyes out with a plastic spoon._

_It would hurt more that way._

_Lips twitching slightly, Severus slowly reached forward, pulling gently until he held the child in his arms._

_Lily's lips trembled slightly, but she took a deep breath and smiled sadly at her childhood friend, before turning to look down at the dark-haired boy sleeping just as soundly in her husbands' arms._

_James smiled gently at his wife, before his eyes strayed over to the blonde child in Severus' arms. He stared at the baby for a moment, before raising his eyes to meet the cool black of his childhood nemesis. "Take care of him, Severus."_

_Severus merely nodded shortly, a small smile twisting his lips at the irony of it all. Who would have thought that James Potter would be entrusting the safety of his only child to Severus Snape? It was unthinkable, unbelievable … _

_It was reality. He had to keep reminding himself about that._

"_Take him, Snape. Get out of here, before we change our minds." Severus nodded shortly at the other man's words, turning swiftly on his heel, and steadfastly ignoring the sound Lily's broken sobs._

Severus Snape stared down at the letter in his hands, allowing a small smile to grace his lips. Lily always had known how to over dramatize events. Had a special knack for it, in their childhood together.

But to send a letter to her son? Was she insane? She wanted him to join her, that was the only explanation. She was out to kill him, even from the other side of the grave. He could find no other explanation for her idiotic behavior.

Well, unless you counted the fact that she was a Gryffindor. That might have something to do with it.

At least she had had the decency to warn him about it – perhaps his life wasn't completely forfeit. Maybe. Possibly.

He'd better update his will.


	3. Chapter 3

The response to this story has actually been quite promising, so here's another chapter for y'all. Three chapters in two days … wow. I feel productive  But, I digress. As always, the more reviews I get, the ore likely I am to update. So keep 'em coming!

Lucius Malfoy glanced up in surprise as his son came barreling into his office, frowning in concern at the look in his eyes. "Dragon? What's wrong?"

He stood up from behind his desk, quickly rounding it until he stood in front of his son when Draco didn't respond, placing his hands on his son's slight shoulders.

Draco was sobbing too harshly, though, and he could see that he wasn't going to get anything out of his son. Drawing the teenager the rest of the way in to the room, Lucius close the door quietly behind them, leading his son to one of the over-stuffed armchairs that faced the fireplace, kneeling down beside him.

As his son's breathing calmed somewhat, Lucius ran his fingers through platinum blonde locks, shh-ing softly in an attempt to calm him down.

A letter was clasped tightly in Draco's hand, and now he offered it to his father, his upper lip beginning to tremble slightly as a fresh wave of tears threatened to overspill. Lucius accepted the letter cautiously, flipping it over and frowning at the neat handwriting, eyes traveling down to the signature at the bottom.

Potter? They had been dead for over a decade and a half – what reason could they possibly have to send his son a letter, obviously times for this day?

It wasn't an odd practice, for wizaring parents to leave behind a letter or other memento to be delivered on a specific date to their children or other close relatives. But Draco had never even met the Potters, and had been not even a year old when they died. So why would they send a letter to his son.

Draco took large gulps of air, hands curling around the arm rest as he stared at his father's blonde head, realizing that the older Malfoy had yet to actually read the letter. "R-read it, Father."

Lucius glanced up at that, brow furrowed in confusion, before dropping his gaze once again to the letter in his hand. Why was Draco so adamant that he read this? It piqued his curiosity, to be sure, but it was only a letter.

Perhaps this was another ruse of Dumbledore's, to get his son to join the Light. It wouldn't be the first time the old codger had tried it, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

But none of the old man's tricks or long-winded speeches had ever affected Draco like this. Usually, he just laughed it off and returned to whatever he had been doing before the interruption.

Settling himself into a nearby chair, Lucius gave his one more confused glance, before beginning to read the letter before him.

By the time he finished reading, the last of Draco's tears had dried on his cheeks, and the color had drained almost completely from Lucius' cheeks. His hands tightened on the edges of the paper as he re-read the last few lines, his lips thinning in anger.

"I need to talk to Severus." Was all he said, before rising from the table and walking briskly from the room, hands still clenched tightly in anger. Draco merely watched him go, curling up tightly in his chair and wrapping his arms around his middle, watching his father go with worried green eyes.

Eyes that had been storm grey earlier that morning.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Lucius walked through the hall toward the sitting room, teeth clenched tightly together as he made a bee line for the fire place. Severus could clear this all up, and put his mind at rest.

And then he could have a long chat with Dumbledore. The man had gone _too far this time_.

However, had he rounded the corner to enter into the sitting room, he found his childhood friend already there, just stepping out of the fire, and brushing soot off his robes.

Severus Snape glanced up, chocolate brown eyes clouded with sadness, and _Lucius knew_.

"No…." He whispered taking a hesitant step back, fighting the urge to flee the room. Severus merely smiled sadly, nodding his head in affirmation reaching out a hesitant hand to his friend.

"Please, Lucius, let me explain."

"Explain? What could you possibly have to say that could justify this, Severus? You … you helped her! You helped her kidnap my son, helped her replace him with another … I raised him! And you acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary, even when Narcissa mentioned …. Even when she said he was acting so different all of a sudden. You knew what was happening. How _could_ you?" Lucius couldn't seem to stop the words from pouring out of his mouth, and that lack of control scared him perhaps, more than anything else.

"Lucius, your son is safe. Your son has always been safe. I made sure of it. You know me – didn't you ever wonder at the irrational hatred I showed for Potter? You know that James and I became civil, at the very least, after he married Lily. You know how close Lily and I were. Didn't you ever stop to think?"

Lucius merely turned his head away, refusing to look his friend in the eye. "Get out of my house, Severs. Get out before I lose control."

Severus merely nodded, internally grateful that Lucius had retained enough control to offer him that warning, that chance.

"I don't know if they sent a letter to him, Lucius. I don't know if he knows the truth or not. Just … be gentle. He has your temper." Severus smiled sadly at his friend, before turning back toward the fireplace with a sigh of resignation.

Whatever happened now, it was out of his hands. He'd kept his part of the bargain.

Lucius stared at the empty fireplace for a few moments after his friend had left, fighting back the tears that threatened to overspill.


	4. Chapter 4

_**First and foremost, let me apologize. I've had this chapter up on my blog for quite some time, but just never updated it on . All chapters are showcased on my blog first, if this wasn't an indication of it. If you want to check my new stories, ideas, and chapters before they appear online here at then go here -- http / www . mellonin .net / create -- that is my fanfiction blog, where all my unedited (and later edited) stories will go. I am able to update them from anywhere on the web, and I do all my editing there, as well. So chapters may go through several reincarnations before they are finished. But, I've already had one person make a comment who apparently reads it here on -- thanks so much for the comment you left acr! -- so I thought y'all might be interested in reading some over there, as well.**_

**_But, enough with my random babblings! On with the story! And enjoy!_**

_...  
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_Lucius Malfoy had been his first true friend._

_Severus could remember, getting off the train on that first day at Hogwarts, and staring enviously at the people around him, at the childeren he had sat down with at the Slytherin table. Most of them had ignored him, a few of them had thrown insults. But Lucius had merely smiled, and later t hat night had walked beside him to the common room, pointing out some of the finer parts of the wizarding world._

_His father had told him of Severus, about his mother who had married a muggle man, Lucius had said. And from that moment on, they had been joined at the hip, sometimes even retaliating against the pranks that Potter and his friends would play against Severus. At times, it had seemed like an all-out prank war between the two groups. Sometimes …. sometimes it had even been fun._

_It killed him, now, to deceive Lucius like this, to take from him this beautiful baby boy that Lucius and Narcissa doted on so happily. If he was ever loyal to anyone in his life, it should have been them, not some red-headed mudlood like Lily Evans-Potter._

_So he drank himself into forgetting — forgetting his promise, his vow, his part in this tangled affair of love, loyalty and betrayal._

He'd stopped drinking after a couple of months, but the pain in his heart had never lessened, even as he had watched the boy growing into a young man, the very image of his adoptive father.

But there were hints of James Potter mixed in there, as well. The way he moved and talked, sometimes, would simply scream of Potter, and Severus would find it so amazing that nobody else ever suspected.

But they had all taken it in stride, claiming that it was only Draco trying to be his own individual. Childeren liked to do that, they said.

They were all idiots.

Severus leaned back in his chair, staring at Draco Malfoy over the rim of his tea cup. Did Lucius even know that he was gone, yet? Did he even care?

He almost had recognised the boy, when he'd come tumbling out of the fireplace in his private Potions lab. He'd just been lucky that Severus was at Hogwarts, and not as home as he usually was during the summer holidays.

Draco hadn't said much since he'd first arrived, only accepted the cup of tea with trembling hands and collapsing into a chair facing the fireplace.

"Is it true?" Spoken so softly, Severus wasn't sure he'd heard right, at first. When d?raco raised red-rimmed green eyes to his face, however, Severus couldn't help the small sigh that escaped his lips.

"Yes. It's true. Lucius came by earlier, asking the same." Severus noted the slight wince Draco gave at that name, and couldn't help the loo of pity that flashed across his face — something that Draco picked up on almost immediately.

The blonde grit his teeth in irritation, turning his head away from the Potion's Master a he stared at the fire once again.

"Draco …." Severus sighed heavily, glancing away from the teen to stare into the crackling fire. "Lucius still cares for you. You just have to give him time."

"Blood is important." Draco said bitterly after a few moments of tense silence. "Blood is thicker than water. That's what Father always said to me. Blood is more important than contracts, vows, allegiences, and even magic itself. I'm not his blood, anymore. I never was. D'you know what that means, Sev'rus? It means that I'm nothing to him."

Severus closed his eyes at that, lips pressed tightly togeather as he fought against the feelings welling up in his chest. "Blood isn't everything, Draco." He whispered, knowing full well that the blond wouldn't hear him.

They sat in a now companionable silence for the next few minutes, before Draco suddenly set his cup aside. "I'm not going back." He announced, turning to stare at Severus.

Severus sighed in irritation, idly wondering just when he had started sighing so much, and whether he should blame the Potters or the Malfoys for it. "Draco, where do you think your going to stay? They are your _only_ family." Severus levelled his gaze on his younger companion, raising one dark brow in question.

Draco was looking at him now, a funny look on his face, and Severus couldn't help the look of surprise that crossed his face as he realised just what that look meant.

"Draco …." Draco looked away again, instead focusing on the fire as unwanted tears welled up in his eyes. "I reall don't have anywhere to go, do I?"

Severus reached over, brushing a few wayward strands of platinum blonde hair out of his eyes, but this time Draco pulled away, shying away from the touch.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Well, after finially adding chaper 4 to i got back in the mood to update this story more. that, and the fact there isn't much else to do on your father's laptop when your computer is rebooting. hope this gets a good response, both on and my blog. And don't get used to chapters that are long like this -- and yes, this is a long chapter compared to most of mine. I just happened to be in the mood to write tonight :) So, enjoy, and don't foget to review! The latest review I got made me get two chapters out in one night -- you never know what the next one might do:D_**

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Severus continued to watch his adoptive godson for a moment longer, before sighing resignedly, and pushing himself to his feet. "I'll transfigure you a bed for the night — but your father _will_ be worried, Draco. Watch." When Draco merely continued to ignore him, however, he couldn't keep the customary scowl from gracing his features.

Draco merely continued to stare into the fire, lips pressed into a thin line, green eyes as cold as his mother's had been when she had first seen the dark mark on Severus' arm.

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When they had first seen the changes, his aunt and uncle had instantly decided it was his _freakishness_ finially coming to the forefront. _I mean, really Pet, who has **white** hair? Especially at **his**__age?_ Harry could still hear his uncle's words, ringing in his ears.

And he was right. Normal people — even by wizarding standards — just didn't have things like this happen to them. Ron certaintly wasn't having complete body changes, was he? And the Twin's hadn't drastically changed in appearance from when he'd first met them, in their 5th year. So no, this wasn't normal, not even my his stretched standards.

And even his skin felt strange, like it was stretched too tightly across his bones, like there was too much body there and not enough skin to cover it. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant feeling he had ever experienced.

It wasn't this feeling that woke him that morning, however. Nor was it the usual sound of his Aunt Petunia yelling for him to wake up and cook breakfast. It wasn't even his fat lard of a cousin tramping down the stairs, probably bemoaning the fact that he couldn't push his scrawny little cousin back into his cupboard as he finially made his way down.

No, this morning he awoke to yelling.

Now, that in itself was odd. Yelling at him, yes. That was a normal part of everyday life. But yelling when he was nowhere to be seen? And when his name wasn't even being mentioned? Now that was something altogeather different.

Pushing himself off his bed with a small groan, Harry quickly slipped into a pair of overly large black sweatpants and an equally large t-shirt, before slowly making his way toward the stairs, staring down toward the front door with some trepidition.

He couldn't see anything from this angle, however, only his Uncle's overly large behind, so Harry slowly made his way down the stairs, careful to bypass that part of the second step that always creaked. Before he had even made it halfway down the stairs, however, he caught sight of the telltale pale skin and gray eyes of Lucius Malfoy, and he felt his blood run cold with fear.

Lucius Malfoy. In his house. Talking with his Uncle. And Aunt. And Cousin. All Muggled. Not particularly the most pleasant of Muggles, to be sure, but he didn't want to see them _murdered_ because of _him_. And there was no way Lucius Malfoy was not here because of him. Why else would a known muggle-hater (and harry-hater, really) be in a muggle house, down a muggle street, in a muggle neighborhood?

"For the last time, you overgrown toad, I am here for the bo- Ah. There you are. Get your things. You're coming with me." Harry gulped nervously at the realization that he had been spotted. before taking a hesitant step backward, momentraily entertaining the thought of fleeing. One look at the older wizard's eyes, however, and his partially raised wand, slowed down that train of thought, although it still lingered in the back of his thoughts.

"Wait, you want _that_ boy?" Petunia sputtered, from where she had been attempting to hide Dudley behind her bony frame. "Not Dudley? Take him! We never wanted him here anyway." She said spitefully, sending a glare at her nephew. Harry simply gaped at her in astonishment, somehow dredgeing up enough hurt and betrayal to blurt our, "But your promise to Dumbledore…."

"Is only valid as long as strangers don't come traipsing in to this house threatening my family, boy! You heard him, get your ruddy stuff!" It was Vernon Dursley who responded this time, and Lucius found he had to grit his teeth to keep from casting the worst hex he could think at the overgrown tub of lard before him.

However, his thoughts were not solely fixed upon thoughts of how he dearly wished he could hurt the man before him. He was also keenly aware of every emotion, every flicker that crossed those expressive green orbs. Unlike Draco, Harry had yet to change in eye color, instead starting with his skin tone and hair colour, both looking unnaturally light against his vibrant green eyes.

And what those eyes were telling him, now, was that the boy was about to bolt.

"I think I shall accompany you, Mr. Potter. To avoid unforseen …. accidents." Harry silently cursed his hesitancy as that, slowly backing up the stairs, unwilling to turn his back on the silver-haired man slowly approaching him. Lucius merely smirked at that, keepoing his approach slow and easy, trying not to startle the boy.

To Harry however, it just made him seem like even more of a predator, stalking his prey. A prey named Harry Potter.

By the time they made it to his bedroom, the smirk had dropped from Lucius' face, to be replaced by a scowl as he took in the surrounding of Harry'd bedroom, from the bars on the window to the peeling wallpaper and sagging, stained matress, devoid of any sheets and with only a threadbare blanket as his only protection during the night.

Harry barely even noticed, however, still far too aware of the wand that Lucius had yet to put away. He was dimly thankful that the man didn't seem inclined to hurt his relatives, but that was little consolation for the fact that he probably wouldn't be so lucky. He'd seen what Lucius Malfoy was capable of, had _seen_ him at the graveyard that fateful night ….

Blinking back the tears that night still brought to his eyes, Harry drew in a shaky breath, pushing the last of his belongings into the overstuffed duffle bag that was all he had anymore — his Uncle had thrown out his trunk earler that summer, or so he said. Harry was more inclined to believe he'd sold it, if the new living room couch was anything to go by. The same could be said of his birthday present from Hermione — a gold-plaited old fashioned pocket watch, with the latin word for truth etched on the back of it.

He missed the watch.

Peeling up the loose floorboard, Harry quickly finished stuffing those items, too, into his bag, silently wishing he had his wand, or, even better, that the entire Order would come crashing into his room at that very moment.

"Where is your wand?" Lucius asked, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the boy. He could have been hiding it under those ridiculously large clothes, but …..

"M-my Uncle, he took it. Put it in the cupboard under the stairs, sir." Harry gulped nervously, and suddenly Lucius understood. Understood why no curses had been thrown his way, no matter the laws prohibiting it outside of school. The boy could have easily claimed self-defense, and really, who would have blamed him? A man once suspected of being a Death Eater, suddenly appearing his house, apparently to steal him away from it in the wee hours of the morning?

Even his standing with the ministry might not be enough for something like _that_.

But the fact that somebody had dared to actually take a wizard's wand _away_ … and a muggle, at that! How could they not understand that a wand was an extension of a wizard's soul!

The stupidity of the muggle population in general continued to amaze him, it really did.

Lucius turned swiftly on his heel, leaving Harry to stare after him in confusion, before he quickly picked up his duffle bag and followed the older man out of the room and down the stairs, where the Dursley's had since moved into the kitched, huddled togeather in fear of the fully grown, legally registered wizard in their house.

At any other time, it might have been a welcome sight. To both the magical males who came upon it that morning.

"His wand. Get it. _Now_." There was no longer any pretense of formality, or politeness in Lucius' tone. No longer did he try and play nice with the people who raised his biological son. Before, he had seen them as beneath him, as playthings for their Lord as he attempted to weed them out of a world that was rightfully that of the wizarding people.

Now, they were worse than that. Worse than a mere muggle could ever hope to be. _They had hurt his son_. Lucius felt a cold chill go through his body just _thinking_ about it, just contemplating what it must have been like for Harry, all these years growing up under the thumb of this great tub of lard.

He'd often wondered at the boy's tendency to draw into himself, away from the people he supposedly cared about. Wondered at his small stature, at his seemingly nonexistant appetite. His son had even written home once to say that the "_Potter Brat_" had been sighed vomiting up his breakfast the other day. Even though he'd only eaten half a bowl of fruit.

Now he understood why. After all, forcing somebody to live in depravity was just a step away from depriving them of food, of starving them, wasn't it?

As his thoughts simmered and his hands clenched in anger, Petunia Dursley scrambled from her perch next to her husdband and son, obviously the more brave — and perhaps most smart — out of the trio, walking on unsteady legs toward the cupboard, just visible through the doorway.

"Don't do it, Pet! He'll curse us all into obilivion!"

Lucius turned back to sneer at the overly large whale of a man who had shouted the plea, gray eyes cold and hard. "_I_ already have a wand, Mr. Dursley." And somehow, he made even the man's name come out as a curse, "And trust me, I know far more painful spells than Harry here could ever even dream of coming up with." He turned back toward the woman, who was now fumbling with the lock, fighting with the tricky combination, normally so easy for her to unlock when she needed the cleaning supplies she'd stashed in there with the boy's more valued posessions. Like his wand, and his broom. And that silly photo album of his parents. Now, however, her hands shook, so bad she could hardly hold the lock in place.

Finially, however, the lock clicked open, and she stepped aside as the frighteningly pale man stepped forward, a glare cast her way before he leant in to the small space, pushing aside the obscene muggle supplied blocking his way.

Petunia Dursley did the only thing she could think of. Push, shove. Lock. There. If Potter couldn't get out of the ruddy cupboard, with all of his magical abilities, then neither could this obnoxious man.

Harry simply stared at his aunt, eyes going round with fear as he stared at her. He took a hestiant step back, away from the cupboard, then two more for good measure. When Malfoy blasted his way out of there ….

Lucius rubbed absent-midnedly at his head, turning to glare at the offending piece of wood at his back, and the woman he knew to be on the other side. Really, all he needed was a firm _alohohamara_……

But maybe a little fear was needed? A little fear of wizardry, and just _what_ could be accomplished with it?

Ah, yes. That would do just the trick.

Petunis yelped as the door to the cupboard suddenly blasted open, jumping back and screaming in fright and pain as a few shards of broken wood scraped her painfully on the arm. And although he knew it must have truly hurt, Harry couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face at her reaction. He really should have warned her …. but really, why else did she think he had been backing away like that? For the fun of it?

Lucius Malfoy stepped out into the entrance of the cupboard, brushing a few wayward bits of broken wood from his clothes, although one piece dangled from his hair, unnoticed. "Madame. I am a wizard. A fully trained, recognised wizard, with over 20 years of training and battle under my belt. Did you _really_ think something as miniscule as a puny _wooden door _was going to keep my locked away?" Lucius took a step close with each word, until he was practically upon Petunia, one hand wrapped around her throat in a vice-like grip.

Petunia only made a choking sound in the back of her throat, eyes wide with fear, as Harry glanced between the two of them, wondering if the restraint Lucius Malfoy had shown up until now would become a thing of the past.

"Harry, get your things." Lucius commanded, eyes still glued on the frightened woman before him. Harry did as he was told, keeping one eye on his aunt and the silver-haired wizard until he could no longer do so and still follow orders. He got out of his former bedroom as quickly as he could, however, holding his most prized posessions close to his chest and he stared at the only two adults in the room, in the exact same position as he had left them.

"Do keep this encounter in mind. Others might not be so …. lenient as I have been." Lucius sneered, smirking at the woman's look of relief. "Allow me to leave you with a little …. _reminder_."

Harry started at that, suddenly fearful that the older man was about to use an unforgivable. He fumbled for his wand for a moment, but it was already too late — the older wizard was far faster than him, and had already had his in hand and ready.

A quietly whispered curse, that Harry was sure had never heard before, had Petunia down on the floor, clutching at her head, a small whimpering sound on her lips as Lucius turned and did the same to her husdband and cousin.

Before Harry could ask, or demand to know what Lucius had done, however, the silver-haired man offered up the information. "Experience it, Dursley. All the pain you inflicted on him, shall now be inflicted upon you. I really do hope Dumbledore's little rescue squad comes to get Harry soon — they'll be able to help you. Your little muggle friends will just claim you insane, and we can't have that, now can we?" Lucius merely smirked at his own private little joke, before turning and grasping Harry firmly at the elbow, steering him out of the house.

"You can't just _leave_ them like that!" Harry exclaimed, jerking his arm away from the older Malfoy roughly, although Lucius was quick to reaffirm his hold on the boy's upper arm.

"I can and I _will_, now would you hold still? We can't have you splinching yourself, now can we?" Harry merely stilled at that, eyes going wide just before he felt the oddest sensation of being sucked through a drain pipe and spit out on the other end.

When he opened his eyes again — when had he closed them? — he found himself standing inside an overly large, yet sparsley funished, bedroom. A large, canopied bed stood in the very middle of the room, black drapering hanging from it and adorned with a heavy green and white coverlet. A tall, ornately carved chest of drawers stood on one side wall, beside two floor length windows draped in equally black lace curtains, while on the back wall Harry could just make out what appeared to be a large, walk-in closet, slightly ajar and already bursting with clothes.

"I took the liberty ot ordering some clothes in Draco's size — the two of you are close in weight and height, although you appear to be a bit smaller than he is. No matter, we can always have them adjusted." Lucius stopped to stare down at the boy, frowning. He really did have no idea what was going on, really ….. but now wasn't the time to tell him. "You won't be able to leave your room, I'm afraid, until all this has been sorted out and properly explained to you. Just ring that little bell on your bed and house elf will come to you, however — they have been instructed to bring you any form of entertainment you desire." Lucius strode from the room with that, smiling at the look or surprise and indignation on the boy's face.

Just as he was about to close the doors behind him, however, he turned to face his biological son again. "Oh, and I wouldn't try and cast any spells in here — you'll get a nasty little shock." Harry merely glared at that, before tossing the now pointless piece of wood — in his opinion — on to the bed, crossing his arms with an annoyed huff.

Lucius merely grinned at the sight he made, the very image of teenage annoyance.


	6. Chapter 6

His hair was black.

Draco stared at himself in disgust, running the fingers of both his hands through his now inky black hair. Not only was it black, but it was just as unruly as Potter's had always been, slightly curly and never willing to behave. He'd been trying to flatten it for quite a while now, but so far he had had no luck.

Uncle Severus was in the other room, getting him something to eat and supposedly calling his "parents". He still couldn't bring himself to think of them as anything other than his mother and father, hard as he tried. How did one stop thinking of their parents as their parents?

Pursing his lips tightly together, Draco turned away from the slightly nauseating sight in the mirror, eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the room around him. It was Uncle Severus' room, and he'd never had more than a glimpse of it -- he'd certainly never entered into it.

The room was meticulously clean, almost to the point of looking unlived in. On second though, Draco could easily see Severus setting up a cot in his private potions lab, locking himself away down there for days on end. It certainly went with his dungeon lurker image.

Severus had sent him in hereto make himself "presentable", however, and Draco had had every intention of doing just that. Now, though, he had to admit it was a losing battle. His hair just wouldn't lie flat.

And so he had taken to surveying the room around him, knowing full well that the chances of him being allowed in here again were slim to none. And a Malfoy always took notice of everything around them -- you never knew when that knowledge might come in useful.

He'd never taken to that particular skill, not the way his mother and father had. It was a miracle that he'd gotten in to Slytherin, or so his mother had said once when she thought he wasn't listening.

He could hear raised voices on the other side of the door know, one his father's, and the other Uncle Severus'. Whatever they were talking about, his father was angry. Probably with him, for leaving like he had. He hadn't even told a House Elf where he was going, had just lit out of there like the hounds of Hades were on his heels.

As he eased the door open a fraction, however, Draco's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his father standing bare inches from the man Draco had always heard him refer to as his best friend, eyes narrowed in anger. Severus stood stoically calm, the only sign of his distress the way his lips were pressed tightly together, thinned to a straight line. It was his father's words, however, that gave him pause.

"Trust you? Why, pray tell, should I trust you, Severus? You knew. You knew about the switch -- hell, you participated! You took my son, my blood, and replaced him with some child I'd never even laid eyes on. I love Draconis, Severus. You know that. But ... hell, he isn't my son, is he? And I have you to thank for that. For all of this."

Lucius turned away from his childhood friend, eyes widening slightly as he took in Draco, barely visible behind the bedroom door. His eyes were wide with surprise, but it was Severus that he was staring at, not Lucius.

"You knew?" He spoke so softly, they might not have heard him if the room hadn't been quite so still. But his voice rang out loudly in the otherwise silent room, and Lucius pursed his lips as he turned to look at the dark haired man with a raised eyebrow.

"It was to protect you, Draco. When your mother learned of the prophesy ..."

Lucius started at that, turning to stare at his friend with wide eyes. "It was meant for Draco, wasn't it? He was the one who was supposed to be marked."

"I don't know, Luc. It doesn't make any sense -- never did. Potter shouldn't have been marked -- you were loyal to the Dark Lord at the time, and Potter's birthday is all wrong. he was born in December, not July. I don't know what any of this means."

Lucius sighed, turning away from the potions master again and holding out a hand to the now dark-haired boy. "Come on, Draco. Let's go home. Your mother is all worked up over your disappearance.

Draco nodded, still in a daze as he moved toward his father. He no longer looked at Severus, and made a wide berth around Severus as he moved to join his father. And while Severus knew that he did it unconsciously, it still hurt to know he had lost the boy's trust, and faith.

He had grown close to Draco over the years. He had seen so much of Lily in the boy, enough that he could sometimes forget just who his father was. Sometimes.

--

Lucius left his wife and son as soon as he was sure that Draco wasn't going to bolt again, running his fingers through his inky black hair with a small smile as he turned toward the door. A quick spell brought a house elf to him, and he quickly told the little being what he wanted before turning toward Potter's room.

He entered without knocking, noting the open balcony doors with a small smile. Narcissa loved her balcony's, and had them placed at various spots throughout the house. Perhaps Potter had inherited that love.

Draco had always thought them frivolous, and hated the out of doors. He had only decided to play Quidditch as a way of besting Potter.

"I could jump, you know. Probably be a better end than whatever you have planned for me."

Lucius started at that, quickly making his way to the open double doors and staring at the dark-haired youth leaning against the balcony railing, staring down at the grounds below.

"The shields would stop you, and alert me to your attempt. Don't make me confine to the in-doors, Harry." He forced himself to use that first name, even though it felt strange on his tongue, like some foreign substance that didn't belong anywhere near him.

Harry's hands tightened around the railing he was leaning against, staring down at the pristine lawns. The house elf was still there, working busily away, and Harry couldn't help but be a bit envious of the little creature, free to move around as he pleased, with no shields or men to stand in his way. The only thing that kept that little creature here, was it's own will. Well, that and the laws of the wizarding world. But no spells, no charms, no shields.

"I didn't bring you here to harm you." Lucius came to stand beside the younger man, placing his hands on the railing and leaning against it in a while that almost identically mirrored that of his biological son's stance. Harry didn't noticed this, however, too busy glaring out over the grounds.

"Then why? For tea and scones?!" Instead of his voice raising, Harry's voice only got softer with his anger, and Lucius winced internally as he realized that Harry had inherited the one thing from Narcissa he had been hoping would have been lost.

Her temper. Her way of getting only more and more quiet, more and more calm, the angrier she got. It was what won her most of her arguments -- when other people got emotional, she just got cold, and calculating, allowing her to see every angle of whatever problem, or predicament was facing her. He didn't know about the calmness, but Harry had certaintly inherited the quietness.

But no, his voice was filled with emotion when he talked, wasn't it? Tight with it, as if he were barely holding the flood gates of his anger. Not that controlling him would be a problem for Lucius, especially with his magic bound in this room as it was. One spell, and the boy would begin to feel the effects.

"Harry, there are some thing you don--" Lucius paused, truly looking at his companion for the first time.

"Where is your scar?"

Harry glanced up sharply at that, hand flying to his forehead as he stared quizzically at the older man, before his eyes, too, widened in surprise and his fingers danced over the now smooth skin of his forehead, searching for the familiar feel of his lightening bolt shaped scar. "What did you do?"

Lucius simply stared at the boy, for once at a loss for words, and with a sinking feeling in his gut realized that there was one plausible explanation.

What spells had Severus used? They were wearing off now, yes, but had those spells made the children switch in blood as well as in appearance? And the curse mark -- it was tied to blood, as witnessed by the fact that it was only the boy's blood that had protected him from the Dark Lord and his followers all these years.

But now that blood had changed, and the mark had followed that blood ...

Straight to Draco.

--

Curses were different from hexes, in that they had a sort of sentience all their own, able to change and adapt to their environment just as a human being, or other magical creature could change and adapt. They had no personalities, no needs and wants of their own, no true thoughts. But they did have a sentience, of a sort.

And it was that sentience that had allowed the curse mark to carry over in to Draco. At least, that was what his father had said.

Draco stared at himself in the mirror, green eyes bright with unshed tears.

He'd thought he was ready to take on anything the world threw at him. But not this. To be the target of the Dark Lord, rather than his pupil, his loyal follower ...

Would the years he had spent in training, a loyal servant to the Dark, matter at all to Lord Voldemort? Or would this curse scar be all that mattered, in the end?

And would the curse scar have even mattered? Just looking like Potter, just knowing that his own mother had, indeed, been a mudblood -- would that have been enough to condemn him in the eyes of Voldemort, and thus, the Death Eaters?

Draco slumped down into a nearby chair, for once not caring how he would look to anybody watching. What point was there anymore, anyway? To watching what he did, how he acted? He was Potter, the idiotic imbecile known for daring acts of bravery and foolhardiness.

He barely even noticed when a slight tapping sounded at his door, glancing up morosely as Lucius Malfoy slid the door open partway and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Draco…" Lucius sighed softly, for once not knowing what to say, or even where to begin. What did one say in a situation like this?

Draco merely turned to stare at the long, white curtains that hid his own balcony from view, closed as they always were at this time of day. The only time he truly enjoyed the out of doors was at night, when everything was quiet and no house elves could be seen working on the grounds. It was the time when he felt most a peace, when he could truly think without any other thoughts clouding his mind. He wished it were that time now, where he could go outside and sit on his balcony with his legs dangling over the edge, and just stare out into the night.

Lucius ran his fingers though his son's inky black hair, smiling a bit ruefully as he became lost in his own memories. "You wanted darker hair when you were younger, remember? You even got one of the house elves to get you some muggle dye, so you can dye it black. Your hands were stained wit the stuff for days afterwards."

"Only because you wouldn't cast a cleaning spell on me." Draco muttered, turning to stare at his father reproachfully. He had finally convinced one of their house elves, Dobby, to clean his hands for him, earning the house elf a sound beating afterwards for disobeying Lucius. But at least his hands had finally been clean of the foul-smelling liquid.

"It will be alright, Draconis. You do know that, right?" Lucius dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and Draco leaned into the touch for a moment before pulling away from his father with a frown.

"He's going to want to kill me now, isn't he? Like he wanted to kill Potter before?" Lucius smiled slightly at that, a slight twist of the lips that held no humor. "Yes, probably. But I'll try and speak with him, Draco. Reason with him. Until then, you need to stay out of sight. If worse comes to worse ... you just might have to put up with the Gryffindors a bit more than usual."

At Draco's confused look, Lucius elaborated. "I will not let him hurt you, my Dragon. No matter what -- even if we have to switch sides in this war, he will not hurt you. Your protection was the only reason I ever joined him in the first place."

Draco nodded at that, before lying his head on his father's shoulder and staring morosely across the room at nothing in particular. It was better than turning to face his father, and letting the man see his tears.

They stayed in that position for some time, before Lucius sighed heavily and moved to get up. "I have to go and check on Harry, but I'll be back, alright?" Draco nodded, moving to lay curled up on his bed, his arm tucked beneath his head and he closed his eyes.

Lucius stared at his son for a moment more, before letting loose a soft sigh and heading toward Potter's rooms.

He didn't feel ready for this, for the explanations that arguments that were sure to come. He had dealt with Potter -- with Harry -- before, and the boy was brash, and spoke his mind far too often. He would need to be broken of that habit, if he was to appear in public as a Malfoy. At least Draco's personality had not changed overmuch, with his change in appearance.

It was going to be a long night.

So sorry for the long delay between posts. I have been writing, just slowly. For those of you who might be interested, you can find my under-development chapters at the following url -- www . mellonin . net / create / . While it is full of grammatical errors, they usually aren't that bad :) Just slight typos from me typing too fast and not watching the screen enough :-

Remember to review! Reviews feed the hungry author, and without reviews, she will starve and become a wasted husk of an author, unable to write or even think coherently, and thus will be unable to give you new chapters until you review. Therefore, reviewing really will be in your best interests.

Also, please remember to leave a signed review -- that is, login with a account -- when you review on . That way, I can actually respond to your review ... if there are any questions to respond to. I often find myself having something to say in return to a review, but cannot do so because the reviews are not signed!

And, last but not least, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and look forward to getting more of those reviews. Author hungry. Author need food! Please feed author ...


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry about the wait, but life got in the way. Hopefully this chapter is long enough to make up for it J It is one of my longest chapters thus far -- for any of my stories! 10+ pages! Enjoy J_

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It was with great surprise that Lucius Malfoy opened the door -- to a sleeping Harry Potter. His blonde hair was splayed across the pillow, longer than Draco had ever grown it and free of that irritating hair gel the boy always seemed to get his hands on, even when he expressly forbid the house elves from getting it for him.

Harry shifted slightly in his sleep, and Lucius finally entered the rest of the way into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. The sound still jarred Harry out of his sleep, however, and he was quickly sitting upright on the bed, eyes sleepy as he took in the form of the man across the room.

Lucius said nothing, however, instead moving to take a seat on the teenagers bed. His silence seemed to unnerve Harry, however, who shifted away from him warily. "Are you going to tell me what's going on now?" The defiance and anger were gone from his voice, and Lucius smiled slightly at that, internally thankful that the boy seemed ready to actually _listen_ to him now, rather than just attack him.

"I almost wish this hadn't happened." Lucius finally admitted softly, glancing up to meet the boy's gray eyes with a small twist to his lips, an ironic parody of a smile.

Harry merely raised an eyebrow, watching the older man warily as Lucius rose to his feet, walking over to the double doors that led out onto the balcony, throwing them open wide. He stood there for a moment, hands still gripping each of the doors, arms spread wide as he stared sightlessly down at the lake below them.

"I received a letter recently, from the Potters. James and Lily Potter. It explained Draco's changing appearance, and alerted me that you would be going through the same thing." Lucius finally turned to stare at the boy, sighing softly at the look in his face.

"My parents sent you a letter? How? They're dead. And why would they send _you_ one and not me?"

Lucius withdrew a single piece of parchment from the inner pocket of his outer robes, holding it out and waiting for the boy to take it.

Harry rose from his perch on the side of the bed, carefully accepting the letter and skimming over it. After a moment, though, he stumbled back a little to sit on the end of the bed, lips parted slightly as he read the single page more carefully.

"Your lying." His hands were steady when he threw the letter toward Malfoy, not watching as it fluttered to the ground between them. His voice quavered, however, breath unsteady as he clenched his hands tightly together and stared down at the floor.

Lucius sighed, running a hand through his normally immaculate blonde hair as he rose to stand beside the young man who was now refusing to even look at him.

"Harry, I am not lying. What would I gain with this? I love Draco ... but I refuse to allow us -- all of us -- to live a lie. Is that what you want to do?" He knelt now, settling a hand on the youth's knee as he sought to catch his eye.

Harry merely grit his teeth, turning his head away when Lucius would have made eye contact. The older blonde sighed, slowly standing to his feet against the protestation of his knees.

"Call for a house-elf if you need anything. And I _will_ be alerted if you try anything foolish on the balcony."

Harry waited until the door had closed behind the older man, before he let himself fall back on the bed with a sigh. He was up in an instant, however, scrambling along the bed until he could reach down and pluck the letter up.

It was addressed to him, but not to him. To the boy who should rightfully hold that name.

Harry drew in a shuddering breath, clenching the letter tightly in his left hand and clenching his other hand over his closed fist. He brought his joined hands up to his lips, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he collapsed onto the ground with a small cry.

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Narcissa Malfoy had never been one for public displays of affection. The same could not be said, however, for private displays. In the privacy of her own home, she was open and caring, the coldness reserved for those not part of her immediate family. This had been true even as a child, and thus she had always been perceived as a very cold, callous individual.

Draco had never shared these traits, and she had always assumed he took after her cousin, Sirius, in that regard. Now she knew better, though. Now she knew where he got his quick temper. How he came by the explosive displays of emotion that were so uncommon for a Malfoy -- or a Black.

And the Potter boy ... she had never really paid much attention to him, rarely even gave the boy a thought except that both her husband and her son seemed so preoccupied with him. Draco, especially. The two seemed always to be fighting, like some rabid dog.

But Potter was never the one to start the fight. Indeed, he was usually not even the one to fight back, leaving that to his friends, Ronald Weasley in particular. He was more one to hang back, from what she had been able to gather. To let a situation play itself out, before he got involved.

That sounded a bit more like a son of hers.

Narcissa sipped idly from her tea, staring out the open double doors of her balcony. She doubted any of them had gotten any sleep last night, and she knew, deep down, that those sleepless nights would continue for some time.

Narcissa tucked a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear, standing to her feet and wandering out onto her private balcony. Did Harry enjoy these views as she did? Draco never had, although his father would sometimes join her in the early morning hours for a sip of tea.

Lucius, that is. Not James Potter.

Truth be told, she had never really had a problem with James. He had seemed nice enough, though a tad too innocent in the ways of the world. She had harbored a school-girl crush on him for a short time, before Lucius had swept her off her feet. Theirs was a love for the story books, an arrange marriage that resulted in love before they were ever wed. Not many were as lucky as she had been, something she was reminded of, every day.

Bella. Her sister. Not many saw her in her lucid moments, probably because those moments were so few and far between. But she did have them, and most were spent in the company of her sister -- one of the few that understood the particular affliction she existed under.

She had never loved her husband, and perhaps it had been that, which had brought Rudolphus to cast the spell that had stripped her of her sanity.

Sometimes she was able to fight of his magic, particularly after a gruesome battle or torture session at the hands of their "Lord". Not the best of times to come into awareness, to be sure. And that was why Narcissa attended those functions. That was the reason why Narcissa had joined in Voldemort's mad crusade. Not from any loyalty to the man himself, or even to his cause, but from loyalty to her sister. Bella needed her.

But now came the true problem, the root of her worries. Not that she suddenly had another son, for she would never begrudge either boy her love. Draco she had raised from an infant, and Harry she had given birth to. She had given this much thought, through the long hours of the night while Lucius had locked himself in his study. She could understand why Lily Potter had done what she had, in that last desperate hope to save her son's life. She did not like it, did not appreciate it, but she could understand it. She would have done the same, had she been given the chance to save her child's life when it seemed so clear he would perish.

But the true worry, was the protection of her son. Of Draco. For he now bore the mark of Voldemort's enemy, now bore the look of a child who had fought him, time and again. A child who was responsible for the half life he had lived this last decade. And as much as she loved her sister ... her children came first. In a choice between Bella and Draco, Draco would be the one to earn her protection, her love. Her sacrifice.

Narcissa prayed she would never have to make that choice.

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Draco stared sightlessly up at the ceiling of his room, sprawled out across his expansive bed. He had been in this position for what seemed like an eternity, but with his attention span, had probably only been a couple of minutes.

He got that from his father, didn't he? His real father, his biological father. The father he now looked so much like. And Potter looked like Lucius Malfoy, he was sure. He hadn't gotten even a glimpse of the other boy yet, but it was safe to say that they had, essentially, "switched". Appearances, at least. He didn't feel any different mentally, but then he probably wouldn't. If he changed, if he truly became like Potter, he wouldn't even notice, thinking that he was acting as he should. As he was supposed to.

Should he be acting like Potter? He didn't want to, but that was who he would be, from this point on, to the rest of the world. Within these walls he could pretend he was somebody else, but in truth … he was Harry Potter now. And Draco Malfoy was most likely sleeping just down the hall from him.

He was frightened. He _was_ a bit ashamed to admit that, for his father had always frowned on him seeking his mother out for comfort when was smaller, although his mother had always laughed and said that such fears were normal. His father's opinion meant too much to him, however, and so he had learned to bury his childish fears, moving through life with the constant worry that Lucius would somehow find out that those fears were still there, simply buried and masked over.

This fear was different, though. It wasn't that he worried for his physical safety, for his mother and father would never let anything happen to him -- of that he was still quite sure.

Now he feared for his very identity, being stripped away with every passing second. He was losing his _self_.

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His head was spinning.

Harry sat up in bed, holding a shaking hand to the side of his head as he supported his weight on his other hand, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

He wasn't quite sure when he had fallen asleep, only that Lucius Malfoy hadn't been gone very long. But it had been a long night, and all he had wanted to do was _stop thinking_. About everything.

The letter was a fake. It had to be. There was no other explanation, at least not one that made any sort of sense. His parents were his parents, and the Malfoy's were followers of Lord Voldemort, it was as simply as that.

Even if there _were_ other ways to capture him, other ways to torture him, either physically or mentally.

Rubbing the heels of both his hands over his eyes, Harry straightened his position so he was sitting upright, although he was quick to lower his hands, not trusting that he was at all safe in this house.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he watched with some trepidation as the door to "his" room opened, revealing Lucius Malfoy yet again.

The man seemed to have no life. There was no other explanation for the inordinate amount of time he was able to spend here, in this tiny room. Did he even work?

Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry focused once again on the platinum blonde, watching as he took up a stance to the left of the door, which he had left open.

"I have extended the wards that keep you here. You are free to roam through the manor, so long as you do not leave or attempt to step outside the wards. Should you approach the wards, you will immediately be notified by a house elf." Lucius paused, watching his biological son as Harry gave a small start, obviously surprised by this turn of events.

"I do not want you to feel as a prisoner here. You are my _son_." Lucius put emphasis on that last word, giving the young man an intense look before turning toward the door once again. "I'm sure you are hungry. Please, head down to the dining room when you feel up to it. The house elves have left a light breakfast for you."

Harry watched other older man leave, having said nothing during this entire confrontation. It had been anticlimactic, this conversation. He had been expecting something a bit more grand, for his next conversation with the elder Malfoy. Maybe some threats if he didn't cooperate, at the very least an explanation of what would be required of him, as a supposed Malfoy. Certainly not this sudden freedom to roam through out the … wherever he was.

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, Harry rose to his feet, steadying himself on the bed as he did so. Now that he thought about it, he knew this feeling, these symptoms. He needed to eat something, and quickly. He felt like he had when Uncle Vernon would deprive him of food for over a week, forcing him to work diligently and then finding some excuse to lock him in his room immediately after his chores had been completed.

Keeping a hand on something solid, Harry slowly made his way out of the room, glancing warily both ways down the hallway before starting toward the staircase. Hopefully, the dining room was downstairs, and not one of the many doorways he could see lining the hallway.

Lucius Malfoy watched his son from the doorway of his own bedroom, Narcissa knitting quietly behind him. It was more of a soothing tactic for than something she actually _needed_ to do, unlike Molly Weasley. He had seen the number of hand-made sweaters those children wore, and knew for a fact that without that particular ability of hers, those same children would have gone without winter clothes many years.

But it was calming for Narcissa, the repetitive motion and the _click-click_ of the knitting needles as she went about her work. And, usually, it was calming for him as well -- he could spend nearly an hour just watching her knit, pretending to be reading one important document or another from the Ministry of Magic.

But now he had more important things to think about, rather than the soothing sound of her needles as she worked busily away at one project or another. Probably another pillow, or perhaps that dress she had been planning on donating to the local village come Christmas.

His son -- his biological son -- could barely stand. He could tell the source from here, although even if he were closer, Lucius doubted that he would be able to tell any better what the source of his weakness was. But as it now stood, Harry could barely walk down the hall, leaning heavily against the wall as he felt his way along, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he would fall at any moment.

But what could he do? Harry would fight him as if his life depended upon it if approached, certain that he was being attacked. And after everything he had done to the boy, he really couldn't blame him.

Sighing softly, Lucius turned back into the room, to find his wife staring at him as her knitting needles clicked away, her fingers working even if she wasn't looking at her work.

"Is he injured?" Her voice was soft when she spoke, no emotion showing on her pale face.

"He is having difficulty standing upright of his own volition." Lucius admitted softly, racking a hand through his normally immaculate blonde hair. Now, it fell over his shoulders any way it pleased, a few snarls catching in his fingers until, with a small huff of annoyance, he reached in dresser that stood against the wall and pulled out a hair tie, pulling his long tresses into a loose bun at the nape of his neck.

Narcissa gave a small burst of laughter, smiling when he turned toward her. "I think I will join him in the Dining Room." She said softly, setting her knitting aside, carefully arranging it so that she would not lose any of her stitches. He knew how much it annoyed her when she would have to re-stitch a row, or even a section of one.

Lucius watched her go, closing their bedroom door gently behind her, before giving another sigh and collapsing on to their four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling above.

He just didn't know what to do anymore. And that scared him more than anything else.

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Harry glanced up from the bowl of fruit in front of him as Narcissa Malfoy walked in to the room, taking a seat across from him on the small table.

He had noticed a larger dining hall on his way here, but had found no food when he had glanced in, not having the strength nor the inclination for a more thorough look. A few paces down, however, he had found this room, set up with three chairs around a small table piled high with fruit and assorted juices.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Narcissa glanced up from the pear she was slicing with a small knife, before glancing back down to her work with no particular expression.

Harry shifted in his chair, playing idly with the slice of cantaloupe in his own plate, before pursing his lips. "Fine, ma'am."

He hadn't really considered this option. Hadn't thought about _her_ until just now.

Narcissa Malfoy. Mother of Draco Malfoy. Wife of Lucius Malfoy. He had never really known her, only having met her just that once. And even then, it had only been for a moment.

He hated Draco. He despised Lucius. But Narcissa Malfoy? He didn't really have _any_ feelings toward her, except perhaps a certain wariness, because of her connection to the other two.

Narcissa nodded, now reaching for a plum and beginning the process of slicing that into tiny pieces, as well. "Did they feed you well? Were you content there?"

Harry started at that, too surprised by her question to keep up his defenses as he had been. "I … guess. I mean, I wasn't at the house usually, because of school."

"And before Hogwarts? Before you left for school?"

He didn't want to talk about before Hogwarts. About his cupboard. And so he simply shrugged, somewhat surprised when she accepted that, no pushing the subject any further.

"Lucius will be speaking to them, of course, explaining the situation. Since you are not _truly_ family, nor their responsibility, I'm sure they will understand our need to bring you home."

Harry simply focused on his own meal, wondering idly if she would stop talking were he to ignore her. Or was she the type who liked the sound of her own voice?

With a snap of her fingers, a small house elf appeared at her side, and Narcissa conversed softly with it for a moment, before it disappeared with a _pop_ and a small bowl appeared in front of her, to which she added the tiny pieces of fruit she had created. The leftovers from her slicing disappeared as well, and a small silver spoon appeared in it's place.

Picking up the bowl and spoon, Narcissa moved around the table, removing Harry's barely touched plate of random pieces of fruit and placing the bowl and spoon down in front of him.

"You need to eat. We noticed, Harry." With that, she returned to her seat, his previous plate disappearing with a small _pop_. Narcissa had set to cutting up pieces of fruit once again, and they sat like that in silence for a moment, before Narcissa made a pointed look at the bowl of what he could now see was a cereal of some sort, meeting his eyes with a raised eyebrow.

Narcissa watched as he ate, head bowed over his meal. His eyes were downcast, staring down at his meal as he ate, and she was forced to stare at the top of his head, noticing out of the corner of her eye how his leg bounced constantly against the floor, a nervous tick that her cousin Sirius had once had when he was at odds with his parents.

Which was most of the time.

Smiling sadly, Narcissa picked idly at her own plate of fruit, cut into larger pieces so that she could eat it with a little bit of cream. Her favorite breakfast, ever since she was a small child, when she would share it with her own mother.

They ate in silence, Harry glancing up every once in a while, but otherwise keeping his eyes trained on his meal.

---------------

Lucius slowly wound his way down the hallway, glancing once down the hall to Draco's room, before heaving a small sigh and descending the stairs slowly.

Draco could wait. His main concern, however, was Harry. Narcissa had left to talk to him nearly an hour ago, and he could only assume that they were still eating. The alarms hadn't gone off -- yet.

The family dining hall was empty when he approached it, however, neither his wife nor Harry anywhere to be seen. A quick call for a house elf let him know that Narcissa was in the library, however, with Harry close by.

Perhaps she could form a bond with the boy, where he had thus far been unsuccessful. It had only been a day, and yet … it felt as if a lifetime had gone by in that one night. It was an odd sensation, to be so impatient. Normally he was so in control of the situation, willing to wait to see the end result. Now, all he wanted was for his life to return to the normalcy he had once enjoyed.

No more Voldemort, no more Dumbledore. No war, no sides to choose. Just him, and his family. He wished, suddenly and fervently, that he had never even heard of Lord Voldemort, had never met James and Lily Potter. No matter that they had never wished harm on him and his family -- they had cut deep with their actions, even if those actions had been an attempt to save their own child. Their only child. And he would have done the same for his child, in a heartbeat.

But dreaming had never gotten him anywhere, and no matter how fervently he wished for a normalcy he had never, in truth, possessed, he would never achieve it. Better to live in the present, then in dreams.

Slowly pushing the door to the library open, Lucius paused as he took in the sight of his wife reclining elegantly in a plush armchair, what appeared to be a novel held loosely in her hands. She appeared to be reading, but her eyes were not moving from one spot -- a spot that had nothing to do with the books in her hands. She was watching their son, their biological son, as he sat a short distance from her, a larger tome in his hands.

Harry was curled up in a similar chair, legs tucked underneath him as his eyes scanned through a large book he had found just a few minutes ago on the shelf. Unlike Narcissa, he had not chosen a novel, but rather a tome on the _creation _of spells, on the process that one went through to tap into the very heart of magic in order to create an entirely new spell. It was long and drawn out, and dangerous, so the book said. But he found it fascinating.

And here he had thought that all the spells he had learned through the years had been in place for centuries. Why, some of them could be only a few years old -- perhaps even months! The book gave no specific examples, but he was sure that it was field of much interest to the teachers and staff of his school. Well, perhaps not to Filch, but anybody else, surely. Anybody with any magical power of their own.

Shifting slightly in his seat, he never even noticed as Lucius entered into the room, coming to stand next to Narcissa and bending down to speak quietly in her ear.

"How has he been?" Narcissa glanced up at the question, smiling gently at the worried look on her husband's drawn face.

"Quiet, and a bit preoccupied. But he is polite to a fault. We shall have to teach him the proper wizarding customs, of course, as well as how to behave as a Malfoy. But he is already very polite, and soft spoken. A bit withdrawn, but considering his past history with us, who can really blame him?"

Lucius blushed hotly at that, although he knew she had not meant it as a reprimand, but had merely been speaking a fact. The fact was, though, that he had a lot to apologize for. And he had never been a man to apologize.

Harry shifted slightly in his chair, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand as he yawned, eyes tightly closed, before he returned his attention to the book in front of him.

Lucius frowned, noticing for the first time what that tome particular tome was about. Lips thinning into a tightly pursed straight line, Lucius rose from his crouch next to Narcissa's chair, coming to stand next to Harry.

Harry finally noticed the presence of the older man, hands tightening around the edges of his book as he glanced warily up at the blonde haired giant towering over him. He _did_ have an intimidating presence, no matter how much Harry wished he wasn't intimidated by him. He was. The man was overpowering, standing there and staring down at him with that scowl in place.

"Perhaps something more suitable?" Lucius asked, raising one finely sculpted eyebrow as he glanced down toward the book meaningfully. Harry followed his gaze, frowning at the book. _More suitable?_

Lucius gave a small sigh, plucking the book from Harry's now lax fingers and placing it back on the shelf before moving to another section of a different bookshelf, fingers trailing along the spines of the many books there, before he pulled out a large, hardcover book and passed it to the still seated Harry. "Don't worry about school for now … just relax." Lucius smiled down at the blonde-haired boy, silently marveling at just how much he had come to look like Draco so quickly.

Of course, there were differences, even where the transformation had already taken place. He was thinner than Draco, his hair cut differently, his face more gaunt, his eyes more shadowed. And he was more expressive with those eyes, his emotions playing clearly across those grey depths.

The transformation was nearly complete. The eyes were there, as was the hair, and they had never been very far from each other in height. It was the skin that still threw him off, how dark it was in comparison to both he and his wife. It would lighten soon, he was sure, perhaps even before they retired for the night. And then the transformation would be complete.

"I think I shall go check on Draco. Excuse me, gentlemen." Lucius nodded to his wife, Harry's attention averted, for the moment, from the book Lucius still held out to him as he watched the woman go, until the doors had closed behind her, cutting her off from view.

Leaving him alone with Lucius Malfoy.

Harry tentatively took the book from the older man's grip, flipping it over so he could see the cover. _The Sirmillion_, by _JRR Tolkien_.

"A muggle book?" Harry asked, raising one eyebrow in surprise, a slight quirk coming to his lips. Almost a smile, but not quite.

"Yes, well, they have to be good at something, do they not?" Lucius returned, smiling as he picked out a book for himself, before claiming the seat his wife had just vacated.

As he glanced back at Harry, however -- his son -- he found that the blonde haired youth was glaring at him, lips slightly parted and teeth clenched tightly together. "Don't clench your teeth." He said mildly, opening the small book and focusing on getting through the first chapter.

Harry blinked in surprise, too bewildered by that statement to really make any sort of response. _Don't clench your teeth_? That sounded like something Molly Weasley would say, and certainly wasn't anything he had expected to hear Lucius Malfoy say .. Well .. Ever.

Leaning back in his chair, Harry slowly opened the book in his hands, trying to focus on the words before him.

----------------------

Draco slowly sat up in bed, yawning as he rubbed wearily at his eyes with a clenched fist. His vision was blurry even after that, though, and he softly cursed as he glared at the wall across from his bed, too angry to focus that anger on one particular person or object.

Potter needed glasses. He had, technically, _become_ Potter, for all intents and purposes. Therefore, _he_ needed glasses. Surely there was a spell that could fix this? Some sort of potion he could take, to fix his eyesight? He simply _refused_ to walk around in those hideous glasses of Potter's. Having the scar was bad enough.

Speaking of his scar … it was pounded. Rubbing wearily at the lightening bolt mark on his forehead, Draco heaved a small sigh, swinging his legs out of the bed as he held the blanket away from him. He let it drop back onto the bed behind him, as he stood and made his way toward the bathroom.

He had just barely stepped from the bathroom when a soft knock came on the door, and he swiftly wrapped his black and green bathrobe around himself, before opening the heavy wooden door to reveal his mother.

Narcissa smiled gently at the sight of his wet hair and still-sleepy eyes -- it always had taken Draco longer to wake than either she or her husband. At least now they knew why.

Draco stepped aside, running a hand through his now midnight black hair, a slight blush staining his cheeks. "I …"

"Go and get dressed, Draco. And then you can join me in the library."

Draco nodded, disappearing into his walk in closet. It was times like these when he was thankful for that closet, as he could simply get dressed _inside_ of his closet, rather than rush through the room with an armful of clothes simply to change in the bathroom. Because he was _certainly not_ changing in front of his mother -- especially not now. Now that even _he_ didn't know the specifics of his own body.

When he reappeared a couple minutes later, Narcissa was sitting calmly on his neatly made bed, smiling slightly as she watched him walk toward her. She held out her hand, and he gingerly sat on the bed beside her, head bowed as he stared down at the carpet beneath their feet.

"Harry and your father are in the library already." Narcissa commented softly, combing her fingers through his unruly black hair. As Draco's head jerked up, however, she let her hand fall gracefully down to his shoulder, raising one eyebrow and continuing to smile.

"He seems upset, but it's really to be expected. I'm sure your father was none too gentle pulling him from his … former home." Now, Narcissa was never one to stumble over words, but she now found herself nearly unable to form the correct words, unsure what to call the people who had raised her biological son.

Draco shrugged his shoulders, dropping his eyes to once again stare at the carpet. He really wasn't sure what to say to something like that -- to any of this. And so he said nothing.

Narcissa gave a small sigh, lips pressed tightly together before she stood to her feet, one hand resting on the back of Draco's head. She said nothing more, merely steered her son toward the door.

----

Harry glanced up from his book, watching as Lucius Malfoy stood to his feet, head turned down and to the side as he covered his mouth with his hand, a large yawn forcing it's way out.

The man had been quiet up until now, seemingly content to read as Harry did the same. And after a while, he had been able to do the same, although the book was far less interesting than the one he had held before.

Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have taken such a book from him -- on the contrary, he would have been disappointed to see Harry with anything but such a book. He needed to be prepared for what was to come, not live in a fantasy land of comfort and quiet.

Not that anybody would be hunting him now. On the contrary, Death Eaters would probably be polite to him, thinking him to be the son of Lucius Malfoy. He certainly looked the part, with his platinum blonde hair and grey eyes.

Not that he believed for even one second what the elder Malfoy had claimed. He was Harry Potter, always had been and always would be. There was no stopping that, no changing it, not would he ever want to. True, his life sucked, and at times he wished he could be "normal" -- at least to an extent. Not that extent that his cousin or aunt or uncle lived, for that, too, was hiding in a way. But normal in the way that some of his classmates were -- Seamus and Dean, Luna and Neville. They lived good lives, had family to protect them from the horrors of the world, and sometimes he wished he had that too.

But now was not the time to get lost in thought, as Lucius Malfoy finally trained that steely gaze back on him. Was this where reality would kick in, then? Where the truth would finally be seen for what it was, and where the elder Malfoy would give in to his baser instincts and torture him for information he was quite sure he could not give, even if he wanted to?

Lucius sighed softly at the look on his biological son's face, lips pursed tightly together as he turned away from the young man, moving over to one of the bookshelf's quite aware that Harry's eyes followed him the entire way.

"I'm sure Draco--"

Lucius paused, frowning as he turned to look at the door as Narcissa glided her way in, Draco trailing a few steps behind her.

This was the first time that Harry had seen the other boy, and it gave him a start, to look at somebody who seemed to wear his body, though the movements were all wrong.

Their eyes met, and Harry shifted uncomfortably at the intense way those green eyes locked with his. He could suddenly understand what Ginny had meant, when she had claimed his eyes could be unnerving at times. He had simply laughed then, but now he understood, as their full force was turned on him.

Draco, for his part, seemed just as shaken, breaking eye contact almost immediately and glancing over at his mother, who had moved away from toward his father -- toward Lucius. He still wasn't sure what to call them, and seemed unable to think of them by their names proper. And so they remained Mother and Father, at least within the confines of his own mind.

Kissing her husband softly on the cheek, Narcissa moved over to the small pull that hung beside one of the book cases, giving it a small tug. A small house elf -- one that Harry had not seen before -- appeared with a small _pop_,

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, watching as the Slytherin boy moved over to stand next to his mother, seemingly just as unsure as he was about this whole situation.

Could Lucius Malfoy have been telling the truth? It seemed rather too much, that he would go so far as to physically alter his own son -- and not tell that son just what was happening. For there was no way the other boy was this good of an actor … they had known each other long enough for Harry to be able to surmise that much, at least.

Draco watched as his mother instructed the small house-elf to begin working on Potter's room, just down the hall from his own. They had been able to retrieve Potter's things from his relative's house -- although they were not technically his relative's, where they? They were his, Draco's, relatives. By blood, at least.

Turning back toward Potter -- it seemed wrong, now, to think of him by that surname, but what was he to do? Even the name Harry felt wrong on his tongue, and the name Potter, at least, was familiar to him. Even if he was thinking it in conjunction with somebody who now bore his former likeness. Former, for he was now dark haired and green eyed, skin far darker than he would have preferred.

He would have _preferred_ that none of this had ever happened.

But Potter was still watching him, grey eyes narrowed slightly, and Draco could suddenly appreciate how Blaise had once told him that his eyes were very cold. The other boy had even shivered dramatically after saying it, and he had simply laughed it off, thinking Blaise to be teasing him. Now he knew better. It really was … quite unnerving.

And here he was, with his pretty, _girlish_ green eyes. Wonderful.

Moving deeper into the library, Draco hid himself among the books, leaning his forehead against the cool wood, letting loose a small breath as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

He just wanted to wake up. To wake up, and find that this had all been a terrible dream.

-----------------

Harry watched the other boy disappear deeper in to the room, a small tug of jealousy forcing his lips to curl up slightly at he edges. He had a feeling, though, that such an attempt on his part would have Lucius following immediately, lest he attempt to escape.

Funny, he had never had to worry about somebody watching his actions like this before. He had _always_ been able to escape, to be on his own when he needed to. Now, he was trapped within the sight of this man -- a man he by no means trusted.

Harry started as a weight settled itself on the arm of his chair, glancing up to see Narcissa Malfoy perched beside him, staring at the book in his hands with a small smile. "Did Lucius pick that out for you?" She met his eyes as she smoke, that small smile still playing across her lips.

Harry nodded, uncertain what else to do as she glanced over to her husband. "He doesn't have much imagination, that one. Always the same books." She glanced back down at him, leaning forward to give his forehead a small peck, before moving off and away, following ?Draco's earlier footsteps.

So, he wasn't the only one being kept on a tight leash, at least.

Lucius cleared his throat, re-taking his seat as he attempted a smile at his biological son. "You are free to pick out another book, you know. Neither Narcissa nor Draco enjoy it in the slightest, but it _is_ one of my favorites." And he had hoped that he could share this, at least, with his biological son. Something to tie them together, other than their physical appearances.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, leaning down further into the chair and re-opening the book. "It's interesting." He said softly, trying to look for all the world like he was engrossed in it's pages.

And failing miserably. Lucius knew an attempt at stopping a conversation when he saw one -- especially so obvious of one.

Smiling slightly, he returned his attention to his own book, glancing up every couple of minutes to check on his young companion.

-------------------

Narcissa found him easily enough, as Draco had known she would. He hadn't been exactly hiding -- not that that would have been a problem for her. All she would have to do, would be to call a House Elf to locate him.

Sighing softly, Draco glanced up from the book he had picked up, watching as she stopped beside him, placing her hand on the back of his head. "You're going to be spending a lot of time together, you know. You could at least _try_."

Draco glanced away from her, staring sightlessly down at the open book in his hands. "We have _never_ liked each other. You _know_ that." Draco glanced up now, meeting her eyes with his best imitation of puppy-dog eyes. "He's in _Gryffindor_!"

"That is no excuse, Draconis. He is your _brother_." Narcissa frowned down at her son, eyes narrowed slightly in disapproval.

Draco glanced up sharply at that, eyes slightly wide as he took in what she had just said. Noticing this, Naricissa sighed softly, gently rubbing at the back of his scalp. "I am very lucky you know, Draconis. I have two sons, two good boys." She laughed softly now, smiling her first true smile of the day. "Complete opposites, to be sure, but good boys. They just need to learn that about _each other."_ Narcissa laughed softly now, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head softly, rubbing the back of his head for a second before moving back toward her husband and other child.

She had finally made public her decision of the other night, had finally let one she loved know her feelings on the matter. And she didn't regret it.

----------------------------

Harry watched as Narcissa made her way back toward them, Draco nowhere to be seen. She stopped next to his chair to run her fingers shortly through his hair, but she didn't kiss him again this time, and he felt oddly … disappointed.

Shying away from her touch, shifted slightly in the chair, trying to find his place once again on the page he had been reading. He found it harder to read now, with both of them paying so much attention to him. He could feel Lucius' eyes on him as well, drilling a hole in his head, bowed over his book. He didn't glance up, however.

Lucius opened his mouth to say something -- only to be cut off by the sound of the door opening. He glanced up sharply, only to narrow his eyes in anger as Severus Snape stepped inside, one hand still on the door knob and the other braced against the doorframe.

"Lucius -- we have a problem."

"Unless you are here on official business for our Lord, Severus, you will leave _now_." Why hadn't he blocked the other man from their floo network yet? It was unlike him, to forget such an important thing.

"They have discovered Potter to be missing, Lucius. The Order is launching a search party as we speak, with Moody at it's front. Dumbledore is pulling out all the stop -- he even informed the Ministry. The entire Wizarding World is on alert." Severus turned his eyes to the blonde haired boy in the chair across from Lucius, unable to hide the surprise that showed on his face. The transformation was … quick, to be sure.

"They will not stop until they find him, Lucius. And there are … others searching for him, as well. Our Lord, for one. I would not wish Draco to be found by either one."

Lucius swore softly under his breath, earning him a disapproving look from his wife and a slight jump from Harry. Glancing back, he saw that Draco had come out from behind the man bookcases that lined the room to stand just behind them, twisting his fingers together and watching them with wide eyes.

"Draco, come here." He murmured softly, holding out a hand to the boy. Draco slowly came forward, allowing his father to wrap an arm around his waist. Lucius gave a small sigh, moving his eyes to once again rest on Severus, who seemed … decidedly uncomfortable now that his message had been relayed.

Before he could speak, however, Severus spoke up instead.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted to make sure you knew the full circumstances." He turned to go, pausing in the doorway as Lucius spoke.

"Thank you, Severus." He glanced back caught slightly off guard by the genuine smile he saw on his childhood friend's face. He returned it weakly, before vanishing out the door and closing it behind himself.

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_And, alas, that is the stopping point for today. Hope y'all enjoyed, and, of course, don't forget **to review**. Very important! I need to know how I'm doing J_


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry it took so long to get this out -- but I just couldn't find somewhere I wanted to end this chapter! And then I would find a good spot, but I had so many more ideas and just kept writing … anyways, enjoy! And, of course, don't forget to feed the author! Reviews make me warm and giggly inside ;)

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His hands were shaking ever so slightly as he stood to his feet, idly thumbing through the book in his hands as he searched for it's place on the shelves. It was easy enough to find, but he took some time anyway, the act of searching through the books calming in and of itself.

Lucius still sat with an arm wrapped around his son, and Harry fought the urge to turn around and glance at them. The last thing he wanted to see right now, was the boy who wore his skin.

And it was that boy who was in danger now. He couldn't help but feel guilty, as if this was somehow all his fault. He hadn't asked for this -- would have been happy to remain on Voldemort's black list, rather than somebody else taking his spot. And as terrible as his relatives were at times …. They were still his family. He still cared about them, even if they tended not to reciprocate.

But he didn't have a choice anymore. That was what peeved him the most, beyond all questions of who was who, and what was going to happen now. His control had been taken away. He had never had a lot of control in his life to begin with, and what he did have he tended to guard jealously. And just like that -- _snap! _-- all of his hard-earned control was wrenched away from him in one night.

Was he being overly dramatic? Was he blowing this all out of proportion? He didn't think so, not if the reactions of those around him were anything to go by. They were certainly acting just as traumatized by all of this as he felt.

Well, perhaps not Mrs. Malfoy. But he didn't know her, could recognize emotions on her face even if he tried. He wasn't sure what to think of her at all, to be honest.

Harry gave a small sigh, pushing the book back into it's place with more force than was absolutely necessary. Something he was sure the ever observant Narcissa Malfoy would notice. She seemed to be aware of everything that went on around her. Even the small things.

Bloody Hell, he wasn't a child! He wasn't 11 years old anymore, frightened of his cousin's size, of the spells older wizards could throw around seemingly on a whim. He was almost fully grown himself, capable of living on his own -- he'd proven that the number of times he had taken up a room at the Leaky Cauldron. And yet, here he was, not even allowed to be in a room alone for more than a couple of minutes. Guarded, as if he was a danger to himself if left alone.

He didn't like this, didn't want to admit that he was starting to believe them. He just wanted …. What did he want? To crawl in a corner and hide there, ignoring everything around him in the firm belief that they would ignore him, as well? It was a fervent wish, but not a very realistic one.

Straightening his back, Harry pressed his lips tightly together, ignoring the sharp pain his leg as he turned around. Probably just another side effect of the transformation -- he had been getting them for the past two days, on and off. Things must have been changing inside, before the outward alterations had made their appearance.

Lucius was speaking quietly to Draco when Harry faced them again, so quietly that he had not heard the sound of their voices before. Now that he knew they were speaking, however, he could hear and small rumble from the older man, but could not discern any particular words. Draco stayed quiet for the most part, every once in a while delivering short, one or two word answers to his father.

Narcissa sat on the arm of what had been his chair, watching with her cool blue eyes. A small frown played on her lips, but she quickly turned that into a smile when she saw him looking at her. Holding out a hand, she drew herself to her feet.

When he made no move to come to her, Narcissa have an exasperated sigh, clearly overly dramatized as she rolled her eyes and made her way to his side, linking her arm with his. Clearly some decision had been made while he was dawdling over by the book, for Lucius rose to his feet now, one hand on the back of Draco's head while his wand appeared in the other.

He couldn't help it -- he flinched back. The last time he had seen that wand in use, it had been … rather painful. Lucius didn't seem to notice, but Narcissa certainly did, and she stiffened beside him, her arm tightening around him. But she said nothing, simply continued watching her husband.

Harry forced himself to relax, unclenching his fist and drawing a deep breath as he closed his eyes, forcing them open and watching as Lucius drew complicated circles in the air, murmuring underneath his breath. He couldn't clearly make out any of the words of the spell, but he did know one thing -- he had never seen this particular spell before. Perhaps they didn't teach it at Hogwarts -- perhaps it was a personal creation of Malfoy Sr.

And so it was with some apprehension that Harry watched Lucius Malfoy end his spell, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor in a nervous tick that Hermione was constantly berating him about. Narcissa made no comment about the nervous tick, but he noticed her glance down at it with a frown, before training her eyes once again on her husband.

Lucius turned toward them, his hand still firmly on Draco's back and his wand grasped in his other hand. He came to stand on the other side of Harry, an arm wrapping around his shoulders as he led them to the door, opening it with a flick of his wrist.

Harry blinked in surprise, before giving a small shake of his head. He shouldn't have been that surprised -- magic was a common enough thing to him by now. But still, he was surprised when the door opened inside a small "living room", a fireplace now cold and looking like it hadn't been used in some time -- wood was stacked to the side, and Harry could make out a few chairs scattered stylishly around the room.

But it was a cold room, filled with none of the life he was used to in smaller houses. In the Manor he had expected this coldness, but not in a room such as this, that should have been cheery and filled with life and love.

Lucius steered him through the door, and Harry put up no fight as he was led through. As soon as they were safely on the other side, however, he made sure to move away from the older man as he deemed safe, casting a glance at the nearest door out of the room. There were two, set on different walls. Both were closed.

Narcissa started moving around the room, casting a spell at the fireplace as she went. Draco collapsed in to one of the large chairs, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping his eyes trained downward.

At least he wasn't the only one unhappy about all of this.

Harry kept his eyes on the dark-haired boy for a couple more moments, before glancing away with a sigh. Draco didn't seem to notice -- he made no outward movement, at least -- and Harry wished he could ignore everything around him so easily.

They were running, weren't they? Running away from Voldemort, away from the threat he now presented the the Malfoy's, and to their son. The son they had raised.

It wasn't that hiding from Voldemort was anything new -- what was Sirius' house, if not a refuge from a maniac who wanted nothing more than his final death?

But Draco hadn't needed to run away before. Hadn't needed to fear for his life before. It was odd, realizing that something as small as a change in costume, could have such an effect on him. On both of them.

Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Harry leaned back on his heels, most of his weight supported on his right foot as he watched Narcissa and Lucius move around the room. It didn't take long for the room to warm up from the fireplace, but Harry kept his arms wrapped around his middle, hands clutching at his elbows as he stood away from the others.

Which of these doors led out of the house? Did either of them? Or was the way out further down one hall of another? There probably weren't any wards set up here, at least not yet. What was outside of the house -- were they in the middle of nowhere, or perhaps on a nameless street in some city of another?

He couldn't be lucky enough to be in London -- his life just didn't work that way. But if he could reach somebody else …

What? What did he think he they could do? His friends wouldn't recognize him -- he didn't even have his scar anymore! He had never thought he would actually miss the horrid thing. But without it, nobody would ever believe him, ever trust him. He was, for all intents and purposes, Malfoy. At least as far as the outside world was concerned.

And Malfoy himself -- the real Malfoy -- he looked about as happy as Harry felt, standing there and watching his parents with a sour expression on his face. He could finally see the resemblance between himself and his father -- between him and James Potter that everybody was always talking about. It was strange, seeing himself standing there -- except that it wasn't him. It was Malfoy.

And all he could think about, all of a sudden, was Lucius' words to him yesterday.

_"I wish this had never happened."_

_-------------------------------------------------------------_

Lucius walked through the halls of his childhood home, running his hand along the wall as he sent glances here and there, noticing the changes that time had wrought. This had been his home once, back before all the deals and the money. This was where he had grown up, where his father and mother had slept and kept their love.

They had been different from him, had raised him with an entirely different set of morals than he had come to call his own in his adult years. His mother would weep if she could see him now, could see the man he had become. The decisions he had made. He couldn't go back and un-make those decisions, couldn't undo all that he had done. Perhaps, if he hadn't become a Death Eater, had been brought in to the inner circle of the Dark Lord, Lily Potter would never have chosen him. But perhaps she would have anyway.

Was this Karma? Was this what he got for all those lives he had destroyed, the families he had left in ruin? Was there some dark god sitting high atop a throne within the farthest reaches of the heavens, staring down and laughing at him?

Damn the gods, anyway. They never did anything good for him.

Narcissa would attend to the boys -- she knew how to handle them better, anyway. She already had everything figured out in her head, already knew her place and theirs. It was he who was confused, he who didn't understand. But that was okay. She usually figured things out far before him, anyway. It was part of her charm.

Here -- this had been his bedroom, and soon would be Draco's. The other would be for Harry, and a few quick cleaning spells would take care of all the dust and odds and ends. The pictures would have to go, of course -- and preferably before either of the boys saw them. Even Narcissa had not known the youth he had been when he lived here. School had been different -- there was been rules of decorum to be followed, taught to him by the other boys in his year. Contrary to popular belief, he had not been in Slytherin, but in Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw had been filled with the Old Families, however, and he had been a quick learner as to what was expected of him. His own parents had never kept up with those sort of things -- not because they didn't have the prestige, but simply because they enjoyed the simple life. His father had never worked a serious day in his life, of course, instead retreating to this house and hoping to live in peaceful obscurity.

Ah, the trips down memory lane that this visit was invoking. And these pictures -- himself and his older brother, practically a squib but a good boy nonetheless. Funny, and brave. If he had been accepted into Hogwarts, he would have gone into Gryffindor, Lucius was sure of it. But he hadn't enough magic for them. He had enough to be killed with Witch Hunters, however -- those muggles who knew of their world, and hated it. Invariably they were Christians, although there had been some who simply did it for the money, or some personal grudge they held against magic and those would wield it.

They had been his first murder, and it still left a bad taste in his mouth, remembering the blood and the gore and the wild excitement he had gotten from their pleas for mercy. It had left him shaking and sick afterwards, but for those few moments, he had been God. Or close enough.

Picking a picture frame from the mantle of the fireplace in his old room, Lucius watched the figures moving about inside -- his brother and himself having a snowball fight. The snow had already started melting that day, and the icicles in the background were steadily dripping as they grabbed fistfuls of snow and pelted them at one another, wide grins splitting the face of both his brother and himself. Draco had been the only one who could make him smile like that.

He wished his son could have met his namesake. Could have been forced to endure his teasing and bad jokes, if only for a moment. But Draco had been killed long before Lucius and Narcissa had ever even met.

Gathering the pictures in his hands, Lucius turned away from the fireplace, closing his eyes briefly and breathing in deeply before he continued on his way out.

By the time had reached his parents' old room, he had gathered the pictures from his brother's room, as well, and he deposited them on the bed as he fought not to stare around the room too much. How he was going to sleep in here he still hadn't quite figured out -- especially with that damnable painting on the wall. His father had been against it, he remembered, but had given in with a single look from his mother.

And so the painting of his brother had been made. Those crystal blue eyes followed him now as he walked across the room, plucking ornaments and pictures from the shelves and adding them to the growing pile on the bed to be packed away. He couldn't bring himself to destroy them -- the only things he had to remember his parents and brother by.

"You've changed, Luc." Lucius stopped so suddenly he nearly tripped over his own feet, closing his eyes with his back to the painting. It was a voice he only remembered in his dreams, and even then, it was usually berating him for not protecting his brother -- when he was the one with the magic, with the power to protect those he loved. It had been a long time since he had heard that voice, imagined or not, without the inflection of anger.

"Luc?" Ah, there was the uncertainty that was ever present in his brother's voice, when not making a joke. Those jokes were usually a mask to hide the uncertainty, though, a defense mechanism that had driven Lucius crazy in later years.

"You're dead."

"I know." Lucius turned around at that, surprise evident on his face. He hadn't thought …

"Mom and Dad told me, after my painting was made. I didn't even know you could make a painting like this, with all the memories and _everything_of the person it was drawn after. But I guess you did, huh? Mom said they were all over the place at Hogwarts."

Lucius smiled softly at that, watching the animated face of the painting. He couldn't bring himself to think of it was his brother, not yet. And really, he hoped he never did.

"You've changed a lot, Luc. I barely recognized you -- and not just because you've gotten older." The painting furrowed it's brow, eyes narrowing slightly as it took in the entirety of the man before it. He remembered a time when Luc had seemed to small to him, so frail, for all the power he held as his fingertips. Lucius had always been the smaller of the two, the one who needed to be protected most often -- especially since he couldn't use his magic at all until he graduated from Hogwarts. And, of course, there was the fact that using magic on muggles at all was against the law. That was what Lucius had told him, anyway.

Lucius turned away from the painting, lips pursed tightly together as he conjured a box with a quick flick of his wrist. "Life goes on, little brother."

"Well, for some of us at least." There was a twist to the lips of the painting as he said this, watched Lucius was he worked. The box was filled in no time, and Lucius was quick to add a couple more odds and ends from around the room to the box. The painting watched this all with keen interest -- it had been a long time since he had seen anything except the decay of the house around him.

"Mom and Dad were upset when you didn't answer any of their letters. Why didn't you come home, Luc? What happened?"

Lucius gave a heavy sigh, turning his head to stare coldly at the painting. "It is none of your concern. Go back to sleep." The painting would have stepped back if he could, and as it was he gave the image of jerking his head back, eyes wide as he watched Lucius walk out of the room.

What could have happened to make his brother so … angry?

------------------------------

Narcissa was sitting in one of the chairs when he returned, watching Harry as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Draco lay on the couch, head pillowed in his arms and face hidden from sight. In her hands Narcissa held some knitting project or another, but it lay still and unfinished, as she paid it no heed.

Harry shifted slightly as he heard Lucius enter, lifting his head to glance at the older man before dropping it back down so that his chest almost touched his chest, his eyes partially closed as he stared at the floor beneath his feet. Draco made no response to his entrance, and Lucius reflected with a frown that it was entirely possible that the boy actually _had_ fallen asleep -- he could sleep almost anywhere, in almost any situation. The boy would sleep through his own death if he was allowed to.

Running a hand through his silky blonde tresses, Lucius smiled gently at his wife, moving over to place a hand gently on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, before glancing up to smile at him, her eyes tired and the smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Just the fact that she had jumped upon his arrival told him something of just how tired she really was. Why don't we show the boys to their rooms? I'll take Draco." Narcissa nodded, rising to her feet and approaching Harry as Lucius bent down and gently picked up Draco. The young man shifted in his father's arms, still small enough that he wasn't really a burden to the stronger man. He didn't awaken, however, simply murmured softly in his sleep.

Narcissa gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, smiling as he turned his too-serious gray eyes on her. "Let's go see what Lucius has done for your bedroom, shall we?" As they started up the stairs, Narcissa kept talking. "You know, I've never been here before. Neither has Draco. This was Lucius' home when he was a boy. I've heard he had a brother, but he doesn't talk about him much. I think he died when he was rather young." Narcissa frowned at the memory, lips pursing together and her brow furrowed in though. Harry watched her for a moment, unaware that his expression nearly mirrored hers.

Nobody would ever guess they weren't related, now.

Narcissa fell silent as they reached the top of the stairs, taking note of where Lucius was standing down the hall. There was a door across the hall, and another further down, set against the far wall. Logic dictated …

Narcissa smiled down at the blonde haired young man with her, motioning for him to step in front of her and they started down the hall. They reached the other door just as Lucius stepped into Draco's room, shutting the door behind himself. Narcissa opened the other door, internally relieved that she had assumed correctly as a moderately sized bedroom was revealed. There were no curtains around the bed, no elaborate decorations -- just a desk, several posters, a carpeted floor, and a medium sized bed with a blanket splashed with neutral colors. Perhaps Draco had taken Lucius' old bedroom, since she certainly couldn't imagine Lucius decorating his own bedroom like this.

"I'll call you when Lunch is ready, but try not to wander, Lucius and I still have some cleaning to do. Just call us if you need anything, alright?: Narcissa waited for his nod before returning the motion, smiling as she stepped out of the room and closed the door tightly. Lucius was just stepping out of the other bedroom as she turned around, and he smiled sadly, wrapping an arm around her waist as they started for the stairs.

"I will return to the Manor and pick up our clothes, as well as the boys'. Is there anything else you'd like me to pick up?"

Narcissa hesitated a moment, mulling over inside her head. "Perhaps one of the House Elves? Just one would be fine."

Lucius nodded, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he started off down the hall at a brisker pace, soon disappearing down the stairs. Narcissa sighed softly, wringing her hands together in a nervous motion she had formed as a child but rarely indulged in now.

Lord Voldemort … he would not be coming after them yet, would he? And even if he did, there were still the wards for him to get through, keeping out any who wished them harm. They were complicated wards -- and had cost them a pretty penny. Hopefully they would protect Lucius until he could get out of there.

Heading down the steps, Narcissa set herself to the task of discovering as much as she could about this new home of theirs -- at least for the time being.

----------------------------------

He felt like a caged animal.

Harry paced the confines of his newest cage, barely containing the urge to let loose a scream of frustration and rage. Was this to be his life, now? Confined to one cage after another, watched closely as Draco Malfoy was allowed to come and go as he pleased in his body?

Slumping back on the bed, Harry stared up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh, brow furrowed slightly as he cocked his head to the side. He hadn't noticed it before, but there was a poster on the ceiling -- Uncle Vernon had one of their records, so he recognized the band. It looked like a poster version of the art on his uncle's record, actually. A muggle band. Had Lucius Malfoy's brother been into muggle things? Maybe even made friends among them? No wonder nobody ever talked about him -- he must have been quite the disappointment to the Malfoy family line.

Of course, he had no way of knowing if this wasn't Lucius' own room as a child. But he couldn't really imagine Lucius Malfoy as a muggle lover.

Which left him with nothing left to think about except the fact he was in another damn cage.

Rolling over onto his stomach, Harry pillowed his head in his folded arms, head tilted slightly to the side as he stared off into nothingness., barely even noticing the wall across from him.

---------------------------

Narcissa paced back and forth across the small -- by her standards -- room, glancing at the fireplace every once in a while and wringing her fine boned hands together. She was restless -- unable to sit still until her husband returned safely. Even then, she knew the worry would remain with her.

She had never had to worry for Lucius' safety before, not even during his raids with Voldemort. He knew how to take care of himself, and she had never feared he would be taken down by Dumbledore's men or the Ministry. And among the Death Eaters and followers of The Dark Lord, his position had always been clear and defined, one of safety and assurety. But now, all of that had changed. Now, she had something to fear.

And it was not only for her husband that she feared. This house -- it was still unprotected, and it wouldn't take anyone long to deduce they would come here, when their cottage in the Alps was obviously out of the question. The Fidelius Charm was a possibility, but the very idea gave her bad feeling -- look how well it had worked for the Potters, after all. But nothing could be done until Lucius returned.

And so she fretted.

------------------------------------

Draco curled up on the bed that was now his, eyes closed as he breathed slowly and deeply. He could have easily fallen asleep -- his father was always complaining about how easily he slept, no matter the circumstances or surroundings.

But his parents were worried -- he had seen it in his mother's eyes, in the way his father was so brusque with him, as well as with Harry. He kept himself apart from the boy now, as if afraid of what he would say or do.

He couldn't understand the danger, of course. What would Voldemort do? He would lose one of his main followers if he touched Draco -- didn't he understand that? Didn't that occur to him as he was planning their deaths? And besides, all they was Severus' word to go by, and at that moment, that didn't hold much weight in Draco's opinion. The man was a consummate liar.

Shifting slightly on the bed, Draco let out a soft sigh and open his eyes, only to close them again a few seconds later and purse his lips tightly closed. He was so _restless_ -- just wanted to get up and _do_ something. But he couldn't, because his parents genuinely believed their lives to be in danger.

Well, nobody would look for them here, that was certain. It wasn't up to the Malfoy standards -- this room alone was half the size of the smallest room at the mansion, and it was supposed to be his father's old room? The very thought made him shudder.

He had always assumed his father had grown up in Malfoy Manor … had this been a summer cottage? Or perhaps a winter one, where they went for the holidays when his father was home from Hogwarts?

This was all Severus' fault. All of it -- even his changing appearance. If Severus hadn't helped the potters … he wouldn't even be in this mess! He would have been raised as he was supposed to, as a Potter. And as disgusting as that sounded, it was preferable to living a lie. A lie with no purpose., but Maybe it did have a purpose, but he was unwilling to see it at the moment. And that was his prerogative.


	9. Chapter 9

Ron Weasley was worried.

Harry had stopped responding to his letters. They didn't come back unopened, were never returned to him, so he had to assume Harry was _getting_ them. He just wasn't _responding_. And Harry was usually pretty good about writing back, even when he was angry.

Two letters. It wasn't that bad, really, except that he'd offered to pick his friend up the latest edition of Quidditch Global, a magazine Harry had actually introduced him to. He couldn't get to Daigon Alley himself to pick up the latest edition, and so had complained in one of his last letters about having to re-read the last couple of editions over and over.

He'd _thought_ the other boy would be excited to hear he was about to get the most recent edition of the magazine ... but nothing. He hadn't even written back to say don't bother, that he had somehow gotten his hands on the magazine. Not that that sounded very likely. Harry was a virtual prisoner in his relatives' home.

It was, surprisingly, not his mother who noticed how on edge he had been lately, but one of his brothers.

Charlie Weasley sighed as he watched his younger brother fumble with one of their father's muggle contraptions, rubbing at his forehead with the index and middle finger of his right hand, head slightly bowed as he watched Ron from beneath long lashes.

It really was becoming quite ... distracting. And, he had to admit, he was starting to get worried about the young man. He had seemed jovial enough a few days ago, but now he was on edge, jumping at every little thing; honestly, he was surprised their mother hadn't said anything yet. In fact, it seemed like he was the only one who had noticed anything wrong. Although, with how busy things had been lately, he shouldn't have been all that surprised.

But Ron's foul mood was starting to rub off on him, and even the twins were starting to get a bit irritable; normally, they could just shrug off whatever was bothering the rest of the family; but not this. Did they know the reason? There were only a couple of things that could get Ron riled up -- being overlooked in favor of his numerous siblings, though lately mum had been paying extra attention to him and Ginny, constantly talking about getting things ready for Harry's annual visit. It really was kind of like a celebration: Harry's Coming!

And that was the second thing that could be causing Ron problems. Harry. The other boy was constantly in trouble, and not only at school; his constant brushes with death were testimony to that fact. Brushes with Death Eaters.

Not that that meant anything was wrong; Ron could have just been in a foul mood. They all got in such moods from time to time; even their mother had been known to fall into a foul mood for no apparent reason. And with such a large family -- and almost all of them cramped into Headquarters, along with the random Order members who came and went at a moment's notice -- it was easy to become frustrated, upset. Feel like the walls were closing in.

But Ron wasn't one to wallow in self-pity, to spend long hours agonozing over the little details of his life. He was a brother of action, like Fred and George, Bill and him. Percy and Ginny; they were the thinkers of the family, the ones who could be content sitting by a window and staring into the distance, a good book or a notebook in their hands.

Not so Ron. Ron acted; he didn't think, and often times that had gotten him into more than a bit of trouble, even before he had met Harry. He had always been impulsive, and it was this sudden reticience, thinking and worrying and planning that worried Charlie the most.

When had he stopped caring?

Lucius stared at the tiny portrait of his mother that rested in the palm of his hand. Such a small thing, thrown carelessly into his dresser; one of the few things he had taken from his childhood home all those years ago. He had thought his mother was weak ... but now he was beginning to see another side. Her side.

This was not the life he ever would have imagined for his wife. His son. Never had he imagined he would have two of those .... he had sworn, when he and Narcissa had first gotten married, that never would his son face the pain he had. It had been hard enough the first time around ... hard enough to name his only son after that brother.

Clenching his hand into a fist around the small portrait, Lucius drew in a shaky breath, eyes closed as he fought to regain control of his emotions.

It was a losing battle, and he knew it.

He wanted to scream, to rant, to rave. To let loose his emotions in one violent display, as he had often done as a child. Not once he had gotten into Hogwarts; no. He had learned control by then. But as a young child, he had been prone to violent displays of emotion, and even during the summer hols those displays had sometimes continued. Only in the safety of his family's home, however. Only with Draco.

It was odd, thinking of his brother again after all this time; he had almost gotten used to his son being the only Draco in his life. But that damned _painting_ ... it had brought back so many memories, so many thoughts and feelings he had long since thought buried.

Opening his eyes once again, Lucius took a moment to carefully stow away the miniature portrait into the safety of his pants' pocket, a small sigh escaping his lips as he surveyed the room around him. The house elves had done a good job of packing discreetly; even now, he could barely notice the difference. Old clothes that had been packed away some time ago now adorned the open closet, in place of the clothes one House Elf was occuppied with moving to their new home. The kitchens had barely been touched; it was not so trying, to shop for food in the muggle world. He had done so as a teenager, when his parents would send him out in the family car to do the shopping. True, Narcissa would be appalled by such ... but, then again, she had grown up rather sheltered from the muggle world. He may as well have been raised a muggle, for all the contact he had had with the wizarding world as a child.

He was tired. Not only physically, but mentally, as well. Tired of the lies, tired of the hiding. Tired of worrying about whose side he had chosen, who wanted his head and who he could trust -- to a certain extent. How long had it been since he had trust somebody -- truly and inexplicably trusted them, with out reservations?

'Cissa was different; but even with her, he was guarded in some ways; open in others. Every person saw a different side of him, a different version. Only with his brother had he felt that kind of security, that he could be _himself_, in all his incarnations.

Ah, but he was dwelling on the past; on a time that would never come again.

Rubbing a hand tiredly across his face, Lucius turned toward the dresser once again. He had wasted enough time here already.

That had been ... too easy.

He had been surprised, at the lack of wards surrounding the house, the lack of security. The lack of resistance to his her sons o closely - having to

Narcissa had been easy enough to circumvent, and he got the vague impression that she was not used to having to worry about him slipping away at the closest oppurtunity.

Of course, there was the fact that he had no idea where he was; and even if he _could_ make his way back to familiar ground, who would recognize him? Who would _believe_ him?

But he had never been the type to sit back and accept his fate - and staying in the home of Lucius Malfoy was certainly a death sentence, if he had ever heard one. He was, after all, the number one target among the Death Eaters.

And Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not a pure-blooded bigot of the worst kind; the kind that flocked to men like Voldemort.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

She was going to kill him when she found him.

Naricssa Malfoy ran her hands through her normally pristine platinum blond hair, closing her eyes for a moment as she drew a deep, calming breath, her head tilted back slightly.

When she opened her eyes again, however, the scene before her had not changed.

An empty room, the bed in disarray, and Harry gone. Gone! Was he completely brainless, that he didn't understand the danger he was in at this very moment? And not only from the Dark Lord! Dumbledore's men would do nothing to protect him; perhaps the man himself would intercede, but he was one of the few who might _possibly_ see him as a child, not an extension of his father.

But no. He had to go _running off_ like some _Gryffindor_.

He was far too much like her cousin. Hell, _both_ her cousins! But, if anything, he reminded her most of Sirius at this moment - and that wasn't a comforting thought. Sirius had always been rash, prone to fits of anger - and senseless violence.

And Harry seemed to be inheriting more and more from her cousin. Did he remember her cousin? His godfather? The man had been a constant fixture in his life up until his parent's deaths - she had rarely seen him in those days, after his mother had disowned him; the night he had run away had been the night of a rather spectacular battle, or so she had heard.

Yet Harry had put up no battle - simply waited for the oppurtune moment to make his escape. More something his father would do, really. Lucius was not one for battles, confr ontations; if he could get out of it quickly and quietly, _that_ was the path he would choose. The path his son had chosen.

It made her smile, that though.

But not enough to stop her from strangling her son when she found him.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

He really did have _no_ idea where he was.

Running his fingers through platinum blonde hair, Harry sighed heavily as he stared down the road with some consternation. The road had been easy enough to find, though it seemed little used - a country road, most likely.

He hadn't been walking for very long, but already his legs felt about ready to fall off, a burning sensation beginning in his calves and steadily getting worse.

He wanted to stop, to rest for a minute or two - maybe an hour. But he didn't dare. Did they know he was gone yet? How long would it take them to track him?

His wand was gone, confiscated earlier. Which left him with only the muggle means of escaping.

If they knew he was gone, there really was no hope unless Albus Dumbledore himself appeared magically to save him. And that wasn't going--

Oh.

Albus Dumbledore was _not_ having a good day.

First, the news that Harry was not at his relatives house had reached his ear that morning. He had spent the rest of the morning making rather frantic phone calls, only to be informed that the magical signatures of one Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape had been found either just outside the house, or in the case of Lucius Malfoy, actually _inside_.

He had been ready to strangle Severus, to dismiss all thoughts of allegiences and oaths; there could be no other explanation than that the man had returned to his former master.

The truth had been a hard pill to swallow.

"Severus, you can't actually expect me to believe --"

"Did you _really_ think the Fidelus Charm would be enough for enough for Lily, Albus? _Lily_? You know how protective she was of that child." Severus Snape did not raise his voice, made no threatening movements. He had no need to; he could see the beginning of acceptance in the eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

The man had never been one to deny the truth, to accept an easy lie. The fact he was fighting it this time spoke of just how desperate he was to maintain the status quo. To believe his _precious_ Harry Potter was the perfect Gryffindor.

"Where is he now?" Albus sounded merely tired now, looked decades older than he had mere moments before.

"With his father." Seeing the confusion on his employer's face, Severus sighed. "With Lucius Malfoy."

"And do you know where Lucius might have hidden the boy away?"

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his noise and shutting his eyes tightly. "Albus." He finally straightened, eyeing the old"er man somewhat warily. "Albus, you _do_ understand that Lucius knows of the connection, do you not? He knows, as does Narcissa, that young Mr. Potter _is_ his son."

"He is loyal to Tom, Severus. _You_ know that, better than most, I'd wager. He will not just overlook--"

"Albus! Listen to yourself! Potter is the spitting image of Lucius at this point! And his precious Draco? Only a fool would not mistake him for Potter." Severus watched the widening of the aged headmaster's eyes, sighing in relief.

So, he finally understood.

"Leave me, Severus. I must think on this."

Severus simply shook his head, but did as he was asked. The man just couldn't stop scheming, could he? Not even now.

He had been lucky, Harry knew. Anybody else would have instantly mistaken him for Draco Malfoy. But Hermione Granger had never been one to jump to conclusions.

Of course, the fact that he was in the middle of a muggle neighborhood might have had something to do with that.

She stood across from him now, defensive; her arms crossed over her chest, one dark eyebrow raised in question. "What, _exactly_, are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Okay, perhaps she would assume he was Malfoy. But she wasn't shooting hexes and curses at him.

_Yet_.

Rational. Keep Hermione Rational. His main goal, as of this moment.

Well, that and getting out of the road.

Unfortunately, if there was one thing that could throw Hermione for a loop, it was Draco Malfoy. The only person he could remember that always made her react quite like this; made her lose her cool, defensive and irritable even she had no reason to be. The ferret had that _presence_ that just got on her nerves, Harry knew. Always had.

And she hated him for it.

Hermione, for her part, seemed unwilling to play games today, as she rolled her eyes and shifted her weight, one dark eyebrow raised in question. "Well, Malfoy?"

Perhaps it was his continued silence that unnerved her the most, or just the fact he hadn't sent any curses - magical or otherwise - her way. After all, Malfoy would have at least insulted her parents by now. Probably her blood and entire family lineage, too.

"It's ... kind of hard to explain, Hermione." Harry almost wanted to smile, to laugh, at the bewildered look on her face at the sound of her first name. She'd probably just deck him, though. "Look, can we get out of the road? I'll explain _everything_, I promise."

Hermione Granger was in a quandry. On one hand, the last thing she wanted was to give _Draco Malfoy_ access to her _parents_.

On the second, her rational mind kept reminding her that, while he might have been a prat, Draco Malfoy was a rather harmless prat; a bigot, sure, but he wasn't going to land himself in Azkaban over a bunch of _muggles_. She knew enough about him, from years of dealing with his bigotry, to know he didn't think they were _worth it_.

And he looked scared. She'd never seen him like this before - even back in their third year, when she'd decked him out on the grounds for calling her that awful word ... even then, he hadn't looked scared. Not like this.

Damn Harry for infecting her with a streak of heroics. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, he had still managed to weasel in the notion of _protecting_ and _helping_ people. She would have been very happy to ignore the outside world in favor of her books but no ...

Hermione sighed, running her fingers through bushy brown hair. Now was not the time to start ranting, even in the privacy of her own mind.

"Try _anything_, and I'll blase you from here to kingdom come." She warned, glaring at the short burst of laughter from the other teen.

As they moved up the road, the blond in front and Hermione following a few paces behind, her hands itched for the cool feel of her wand in her palm - a wand she had left in her bedroom. It's summer, she had thought. It's not like I could use it. Brilliant. Where was all her vaulted intelligence now? Of _course_ she could use it! Only in a life and death situation, true, but it was _some_ measure of protection, at the very least.

As the other teen came to a stop before her door, a small sigh escaping his mouth, Hermione bristled, moving around him and keeping an eye on the blond as she opened her front door.

Her parents weren't home - small consolation. _He knew where she lived_. When had that happened? And why hadn't she expected it? She was muggleborn, and he hated her and all she stood for ... and had his father's resources to back him up. They should have _had a contingency plan for this_!


End file.
